


Dreamers Caught

by Feather_Fall



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: But mostly Teen, M/M, Mature at later chapters, Smut ahead, Trans!Seungri, but yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 03:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 112,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10689282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feather_Fall/pseuds/Feather_Fall
Summary: Jiyong had a wish and Seungri was the dream. There was really nothing more to that.  (Jiyong and Seungri, and a story of them growing up together.)





	1. One

Jiyong met Seungri on his tenth birthday in his elementary school playground, as he waited for his dad to pick him up.

At an early age, Jiyong knew that he was blessed. His father was a lawyer and his mother was the owner of a small fashion shop. His sister, who was still in middle school, had a bright future in fashion design, and none of them ever had a problem when it came to money. He always got what he wanted, reasonably, and today they were going ice skating because Little Kwon Jiyong wanted to be prepared when it snowed.

Unfortunately, Jiyong’s dad had texted him and told him that he’d be running a little late. Jiyong didn’t mind, he was used to it. His father’s job was demanding and Jiyong was an understanding child.

He’d been strolling around the almost-empty school grounds when he’d chanced upon the skinny boy reading on one of the swings. Truth was the other seemed like he was nothing special. There were prettier boys and even prettier girls on campus. There was a dirt stain on the boy’s shirt and his hair was a tangled mess that was not appealing at all.

But Jiyong was bored, and more than a little bit brave.

So he approached him, skin feeling warm under the sun’s scorching glare.

He sat himself on the next swing and the boy’s eyes snapped to him, and years down the line, if Jiyong were asked if there was anything that instantly attracted him to the boy, it would be them. Slanted and ashen grey, heavily-bagged underneath, but completely inviting and bright, it brought a different beat to Jiyong’s innocent heart.

“Hi,” Jiyong greeted, smile wide although tentative.

The boy took a while to answer as the book lay opened on his lap. He pushed his bangs away to reveal a smooth forehead and thick eyebrows, his expression still endearingly confused. “Hello,” he softly replied.

Jiyong reached his right hand out excitedly. “Hi,” he repeated. “My name is Kwon Jiyong. What’s yours?”

Now, Jiyong wasn’t normally as bold. He may have been cheerful and playful among his friends but he was a shy, soft-spoken lad when faced with strangers. Maybe there was something in the air that day or maybe he was just ecstatic to be ten, but he wasn’t afraid at all. In fact, when the other reached out and shook his hand, he couldn’t have been any happier.

“Lee Seunghyun,” introduced the child with the easy-to-blush cheeks. “But I’m called Seungri at home.”

“Why?” Jiyong asked, curiosity unrestricted.

“I have a cousin who’s also named Seunghyun.”

“Why?”

“We were both named after my grandfather.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

And the kid looked so lost, Jiyong laughed. He took what he thought earlier back, the boy must be special to be so undeniably adorable.

Seungri smiled at him and looked at his book shyly, likely in dismissal.

Jiyong, even as a boy, had the sight of an artist. When beauty showed itself to him, he could never deny it, nor could he deny himself from its indulgence.

At that precise moment, the clouds gave way for the sun’s rays to pass through the trees’ canopy, shading Seungri’s face in an intricate pattern of shadow and light. The wind blew gently, teasing his features as his hair danced with the whistles of the moving air. The view etched itself permanent in his unsuspecting young psyche, never to leave, never to fade, and never to be forgotten.

Not wanting their conversation to die or the moment to end, Jiyong swung around toward the hidden beauty that was Seungri.

“It’s my birthday today!” he announced, pride evident in his voice.

Seungri’s face lit up like the brightest of stars in the darkest of nights. “Oh! Happy Birthday!”

Jiyong wondered if it was normal to be that happy for a stranger’s birthday. Then again, his ten-year-old mind also wondered how many pieces of marshmallows he could fit into his mouth. “Thank you. I turn ten today.”

Seungri shone in anticipation, reflecting the thrill Jiyong had inside. “Did you make a wish?”

“Hm?” Jiyong hummed, a little hypnotized by the other’s giddiness.

“A wish,” Seungri explained, cheeks puffing at the attempt. “Everyone should make a wish on their birthday!”

Jiyong scratched at the back of his head in contemplation. “I guess,” he pouted. “Usually if there’s cake, eomma tells me to make a wish and blow out the candle.”

Seungri straddled the swing to fully face Jiyong, one hand wrapping around the rusted chain and resting his face against it. His other hand held onto the book lightly. “Make a wish now, then, just in case there is neither cake nor a candle.”

Jiyong frowned at the possibility. He only asked to go skating and hadn’t thought about a cake or a candle. “Well…” he started off uncertainly. “I’ve always wanted to be an idol.”

“An idol?” the other innocently asked.

Jiyong smiled. “Yeah. I like to dance and sing. And make my own music someday.”

Seungri smiled back. “That’s good! Say your wish then,” he urged.

There was no hesitation. Jiyong clasped his hands together and closed his eyes. “I wish to become an idol and make my own music someday.”

“Congratulations!” Seungri cheered, clapping up a storm that made Jiyong laugh. “Now I have to give you a present.”

“Really?” Jiyong went, not really one to pass up free stuff.

“Yes.” Seungri looked around but he had nothing. Then his eyes fell to the book in his hand. “I only have this,” he said, lifting it up. “Is this okay?”

“What is it?” Jiyong asked, inspecting the book filled with black and white pictured-pages.

Seungri bit his lip. “It’s uhh… it’s called a manga.”

“Oh,” Jiyong voiced. “What’s it about?”

“I don’t know.” Seungri blushed. “It’s in Japanese.”

Jiyong found that amusingly absurd. “Then why do you have it?”

“Hm? Oh, I want to learn Japanese,” Seungri shrugged bashfully. “Seems cool, you know?”

“Is that your wish, then?” Jiyong inquired, voice turning strangely soft at the prospect of Seungri affirming the question.

“It’s not my birthday.”

“It doesn’t have to be your birthday for you to have a wish.”

Seungri grinned, caught red-handed with his own cheek. “Then maybe that is my wish.”

Jiyong laughed. “Cool.”

Seungri beamed. “Cool.”

But Jiyong didn’t feel particularly comfortable about taking Seungri’s gift, so he made a compromise. “How about this,” he offered. “When you’ve fulfilled your wish, and I’ve fulfilled mine, I’ll return this to you.”

Seungri giggled, baffled at the declaration. “What for?”

“It’ll be like a promise, right?” explained Jiyong, trying to convince himself as much as the other. “That we’re both going to have our wishes granted.”

Seungri liked that idea. Actually, he immediately fell in love with that idea.

So he nodded, entirely enthusiastic and genuinely glad.

Then they were interrupted by the buzzing of Jiyong’s phone. He took it from his pocket and saw the I.D. “It’s my dad,” he said. “I have to go.”

There was a frown on Seungri’s face and Jiyong felt his lips form in a similar manner. “Don’t worry,” he tried to amend. “I’ll see you tomorrow again. Here? Recess time?”

As if Little Seunghyun had just realized that yes, they could see each other again tomorrow at recess time, the smile returned to his face and he was nodding again vigorously.

Satisfied, Jiyong bid a quick goodbye and ran off. But he stopped a little ways away to turn back and yell, “Tomorrow at recess! Don’t forget!”

Seungri cupped his tiny hands around his mouth and yelled back, “I won’t! Happy birthday!”

Jiyong grinned. It was already the happiest one he’s had so far.

It wasn’t every birthday he was given another’s wish as a gift.


	2. Chapter 2

Jiyong almost skipped his class in anticipation for the shorter boy. He could barely keep it together as his math teacher drawled on about x’s and y’s and it was terribly futile for him to even try to pay attention. He raced down from the third floor where the fifth grade classrooms were once the bell rung for recess, his brand new sneakers squeaking loudly against the tiled floor.

When he reached the playground, it was empty. His heart thundered in his chest and he was rather out of breath from the run. He took his seat on the swings, right where he was yesterday, and waited as patiently as a ten-year-old could.

 

Seungri couldn’t have forgotten about him easily.

 

Fifteen minutes of sitting still, however, and he was on the verge of tears. Jiyong wasn’t a crier, not at all, but as he was more focused on telling himself that Seungri was coming rather than on keeping his tears at bay, he couldn’t help it.

So when Seungri eventually came running to him, his name on the shorter boy’s lips, Jiyong was about a pout away from hysterics.

“Where were you?” he demanded, hands tight around the chain of the swings.

Seungri flinched, evidently guilty. “I had to stay behind because teacher told me so.”

Jiyong suddenly felt sad for the boy, hurt already forgotten. He has never been asked to stay behind by a teacher before – especially because he was a Kwon – but he did know what it meant. “What did the teacher scold you for?”

Seungri sniffed. “I was so excited to see you that I thought class was over. I walked out on Mrs. Jeong and I almost thought she’d hit me again.”

Jiyong’s eyes widened. He hated that teacher. She was strict, she was hotheaded. She scared the living daylights out of him with her thrice-as-tall height and thrice-as-wide weight. Plus, she never let go of that pointing stuck she liked to slap on the tables and on the board.

Then his mind came to a skidding halt because one, Seungri was as excited as him, and two, “What do you mean ‘again?’”

Seungri’s cheeks glowing red and something clicked for Jiyong. There had been this popular rumor that roamed around a few days ago, about how there was a fifth grade boy who got a teacher in trouble with the principal and whole student body because he had made her hit him.There had only been one such rumor, and it was Mrs. Jeong who was apparently involved.

“Seungri,” Jiyong went, astonished to be in front of a school celebrity. “Are you that boy from 5-B that called Mrs. Jeong an elephant?!”

Seungri gasped. His foot stomped indignantly on the ground. “I did not call her an elephant,” he petulantly replied, off-handedly admitting to a portion of the rumor.

Jiyong opened his arms and beckoned the other closer. Seungri hummed, his body moving on its own accord, and Jiyong had him by his hips, turned him around, and pulled him to his lap. It dawned on Jiyong how smaller the boy was compared to him. Seungri’s limbs fit perfectly against his own. He guided the other’s hands to clasp around the chains then wrapped his arms around his torso. With Seungri on him, the shorter boy’s feet didn’t even reach the ground.

Jiyong swung them both gently. “Well, what did you call her?”

“Nothing!” Seungri’s voice cracked in defense, his syllables blending into each other in haste. “I was having a fight with this one girl in class, see? Because she wanted my seat in the front row? But I couldn’t see if I wasn’t in the front row and she said my big head was too big it covered Mrs. Jeong and I said Mrs. Jeong was so big anyway that nothing could cover her.”

Jiyong laughed harder than he expected, harder than he has in a long while.

There were other kids in the playground, running around and playing about, minding their own business when their attention was caught by the two boys on the swings. Maybe if they were older, they would have wondered about their sharing the one when there was another perfectly available for use. But they were just naive children who were just happy that they could swing and slide and mess about if they wanted to. Besides, the boy’s laughter subsided for a while and they were drowned out again by the noise of playful joy.

Seungri relaxed into Jiyong and the latter was amazed at how the former fit flawlessly in his arms, on his lap. No matter how innocent he was, the perfection was a truth he couldn’t deny when both his heart and mind agreed.

It was a fact set by the universe that Jiyong had no interest in contradicting, not that it could be contradicted, not that he could.

“How old are you, Ri?” he beseeched, the question needing to be asked, the nickname needing to be given. His voice was soft, as if the moment was fragile in its importance, as if this was a moment that would define their years to come (because they would have their years, and they would come).

“Eight,” Seungri answered simply, sounding sleepy. His body calmed further into Jiyong, who literally felt the other’s breathing deepen. Somehow, the older knew that it was he who was lulling Seungri to sleep, the same way he just knew that they were a fit, that Seungri was special, and that they had years to come.

“You should call me hyung,” he carefully declared, unaware of what that might actually imply, but certainly ready as to what he may be obliged to do.

“Okay,” Seungri just as quietly answered. Jiyong didn’t know if it all meant to Seungri as much as it meant to him. In that moment of strange maturity, years and years beyond his ten-year-old addled brain, he thought of protection and guidance, and of forever and more. But because he was just a ten-year-old addled boy, he thought of it as nothing more, that they were just that, and so he left it at that.

Seungri fell asleep on him. Jiyong continued on rocking them slowly, arms tightly locked around the special person sitting on his lap, making sure he doesn’t fall. The older, and he was sure he was a hyung now, knew that if a teacher caught them, they’d get in trouble.

He has never been in trouble before, not in school.

He supposed it would be okay if it were with his Seungri.


	3. Chapter 3

Jiyong learned what obsession was before he even knew the meaning of the word.

(Seungri was just a little ball of sunshine that Jiyong found himself unable to get enough of the boy.)

 

Jiyong was by no means unpopular. He had come from a family of lawyers, made successful first by his great grandmother. Of course, most of that meant little to most of his classmates, but that didn’t mean they weren’t aware that he were the son of someone _important_.

Okay, not that important, but someone _who had money_.

So Jiyong was popular as _that kid_ , but Seungri was popular as _the kid_.

_He was the kid who called Mrs. Jeong an elephant._

_He was the kid who cut class._

_He was the kid who was only eight-years-old in the fifth grade._

_He was the kid who almost fought with the sixth grade boys._

_He was the kid who was always noisy in the cafeteria._

_He was the kid all the sixth grade girls had a crush on._

Seungri was the kid Jiyong couldn’t get off his mind.

It wasn’t that he was an ignorant child. In fact, he was probably more self-aware than most people his age, and he was also in-the-know of almost everyone who was anyone and what they’ve allegedly done.

 _Lee Chaerin kissed Park Sandaralast week behind the auditorium last week_ , his young mind helpfully exemplified.

Therefore, he had no idea why he had no idea who Lee Seunghyun was before he approached him for the first time more than a month ago. Seungri was popular among everyone else, except for him.

And he couldn’t have been just delusional about it either. Seungri was notorious for running down the halls screaming, laughing louder than anybody, creating ruckus at least once in every part of the school, and in all his time following him around – which was every single time he could –Jiyong learned that all the guards knew the boy as the kid who _liked to climb things_.

Funny how the first time Lee Seunghyun bleeped under his radar, the child had been serenely quiet.

 

 

 

Seungri greeted him with his usual flare of a run and a shoulder check Jiyong had to learn to catch. The first time the younger had done it, at the same time Jiyong had started the habit of waiting for him outside his classroom at recess and lunch, the older had been caught unprepared and caused him to smack his head against the nearby wall. In hindsight, he thought it would have been harder trying to explain to his parents that Seungri ran too excitedly toward him, but he perhaps waxed too much poetic about the other boy that they couldn’t unleash their rightful parental anger.

“Jiyong-hyung,” and Seungri would never breathe Jiyong’s name without making the older’s heart race. “Eomma packed me animal-shaped biscuits today! Let’s share it, okay?”

Jiyong droned. “Let’s sneak it into the Library. There’s this book I want to finish.”

Seungri giggled. An affectionate “okay” slipped past his lips as he grabbed onto Jiyong’s hand, falling into the easy and natural habit of walking by his side.

Another boy ran up to them, however, before they could reach the stairs.

“Seunghyun-ah,” he squeaked, already out of breath.

“Woo Bin-ah,” the eight-year-old mimicked. “What’s up?”

“You promised to play tag with us yesterday! We’re all waiting for you.”

“Oh,” was Seungri’s answer and Jiyong’s hold on his hand tightened. “I did.”

Seungri turned to him, his lip bitten in a plea. Jiyong stared back, his eyebrow raised in refusal.

_Obsessed – that was the point, wasn’t it? Why he waited for Seungri outside his classroom every recess and lunch (and every time dismissal came just to bid him goodbye), just so he could get to Seungri first, so he could have him all to himself?_

“I _promised_ them,” Seungri emphasized.

Something told Jiyong that promises were important to Seungri, that they _meant_ to him more than promises would to an average person, like they were something sacred.

Jiyong sighed, defeated, but hand still firmly held in the other’s.

Then Seungri’s next words surprised him.

“Jiyong could join, right?”

Woo Bin looked as surprised as Jiyong felt. He looked at the lawyer’s son tentatively before giving his hesitant affirmation.

Seungri beamed. “Let’s go, Ji!” he called, as the problem was already fixed, as if there was never a problem in the first place. “It’ll be fun! We can sneak in the biscuits to the Library later at Lunch.”

To Jiyong, it sounded too much like a weak compromise.

To Jiyong, it sounded like a promise.

 

It turned out that they didn’t need to sneak the animal-shaped biscuits in because Seungri was close with the librarian.

Mrs. Go was a thin old woman with the thickest glasses and a kind aura about her. Seungri greeted her with a hug and she welcomed him with a smile.

“Seunghyun-ah,” she cooed, thin arms gentle around Seungri’s shoulders. “It’s been a while since you came in. What kept you?”

“Halmeoni,” Seungri laughed, face tinted pink. He reached for Jiyong’s hand and pulled him forward. “This is Jiyong-hyung. He’s my new friend.”

Something thumped within Jiyong that made him nervous and flustered. He’d been to the library before, but he never really saw the woman by the desk as more than the librarian. She was a familiar face, that was all. But Seungri was introducing them like she was family.

Jiyong bowed. “N-nice to meet you, h-halmeoni. I am K-kwon Jiyong.”

The woman laughed heartily. “Oh, none of that,” she waved her arms before pinching Jiyong’s chubby cheeks. “You’re no stranger here.”

She guided them to a table at the far end of the room, right by the opened windows.

“I brought animal-shaped cookies today, halmeoni,” Seungri informed, skipping over to the corner chair at the end.

“What else?” she indulgently asked as she hunched toward a shelf to retrieve a book.

“Pancakes!”

“Sounds lovely.” She noticed Jiyong standing awkwardly to the side, so she pulled out the chair opposite Seungri and patted it. “Helped your mom prepare it this morning, I suppose?”

“I did!” the younger proudly exclaimed.

Jiyong took the offered seat as the old woman placed the book in front of Seungri. “Good boy,” she said, ruffling his hair before taking her leave.

 

Ten minutes in and Jiyong should have known better than to assume that he could concentrate on anything other than Seungri when the younger was around. Seungri’s cheeks were filled with milk biscuits and his lips were dusted with its crumbs as he pawed through a picture book while the sun radiated behind him. Seungri was a skinny boy, as skinny as Jiyong, and he was small and his skin was a lovely shade of brown, bronzed by the sun. His eyes looked too big on his gaunt face and made Jiyong think of chocolate milk, smooth and sweet and something he could drown in.

The same eyes travelled to his and they looked infinitely better that way.

“What are you looking at, Ri?” he asked, placing his chin on his hand in an attempt to hide his obvious entrancement.

Seungri, young and innocent, smiled widely. He turned the book to face right-side-up for Jiyong to see the pictures he was so engrossed in and slightly lifted it. The book was an atlas. “This is the Great Wall of China,” he began, too excited to have his hyung ask that he sprayed biscuit crumbs all over the table. “I want to visit it someday.” He held up his other hand, fingers all spread out. “I bet I can run it in this many minutes.”

“You’re eight,” Jiyong laughed, “not four. Learn to count!”

Seungri ignored him, quickly flipping the pages to reveal a picture of the Great Sphinx of Giza. “This is the Great’s Pinks,” he confidently held. “I wanna go to Egypt too, to see if I can find its nose.”

Jiyong laughed harder. “You can’t find its nose!”

“Why not?” Seungri asked, too innocent, too young, and too beautiful.

And Jiyong had to stop because, really, _why not? Why deny this boy of anything in the world?_

So Jiyong smiled, heart feeling generous and blessed. “You know what?” he said, hand sliding slowly over the table, all the way to Seungri’s forearm, touch feather-light. “You’ll find it. You can do anything you want, have anything you want.”

Seungri hummed, eyes clearing and Jiyong knew his face was reflected in them. “You’re coming with me, right?” Seungri asked, letting go of the book to cover Jiyong’s hand with his own. “To China and Egypt and Japan and all over the World?”

“Is that what you want?”

“That would be the dream.”

And it dawned on Jiyong that he might not be the only one obsessed, because Seungri wasn’t pulling away. He wasn’t anywhere near denying any of Jiyong’s wants. There were always compromises and promises, despite them being both so young and innocent, but there has never been a _no_.

Inexplicably, it all made him happy.

“Then, yes. I’ll travel the world with you.”

_Who needed an explanation for happiness, anyway?_

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

This was a story Jiyong’s parents liked to tell their grandchildren, much to Seungri’s amusement because he honestly could remember none of it (but Jiyong did confirm and the younger could not fathom how Jiyong could remember almost everything about them).

This was how it went:

 

 

He was sick of it. Jiyong was downright sick of having to spend time with Seungri and his other friends just to make him happy. Almost every recess and lunch, Seungri would promise to playa series of games of tag, or hide and seek, or make-believe with a bunch of other people who were _not_ Jiyong. It wasn’t that he hated playing games and running around. No, there was joy to be taken when Seungri would chase him down or press into him when they shared the same hiding places.

What irked him to no end was that Seungri didn’t give him his full focus. The younger boy would get so caught up in trying to win, (“I am Seungri,” he’d declare. “I always win!”) that Jiyong would usually end up losing his attention.

So he decided, one day, to just take Seungri home.

Well, that had been the plan. But Seungri was more than a little skeptical.

“I don’t think this is a good idea, hyung,” he softly said, a little afraid to deny Jiyong when he’s been nothing but eager. So eager, in fact, that he was packing his bag for him.

“Why not?” asked Jiyong. He waved Seungri’s panda-printed pencil case in front of his face.“You don’t want to hang out with me anymore?”

“N-no?” stuttered Seungri, standing awkwardly as Jiyong zipped up his bag.

“Then what?”

Well, Seungri didn’t really have an answer except for the feeling in his gut that they really shouldn’t.

Jiyong’s impatience made him shoulder Seungri’s bag, as well as his own, and grab the younger’s hand. “It’ll be fine,” he insisted. “You can trust me.”

And Seungri couldn’t really deny that, could he?

 

 

Sneaking past the guard was easier than he thought. He didn’t even have to act much for it. All Jiyong had to do, after making Seungri hide somewhere near, was run toward him and going, “Sir! Sir! Seungri’s stuck in the tree again!” and the guard just runs off.

Seungri pouted the whole way, which Jiyong didn’t get because the mission was accomplished, wasn’t it?

Jiyong, even as a child, had a sense which Seungri didn’t have, even as an adult.

It was called a sense of direction.

So as he was taking Seungri home, Jiyong made sure that their hands were held tight so that the younger doesn’t unwittingly wander off.

“Stop pouting already,” Jiyong ordered, taking the last turn before they reached their house. It wasn’t that far from the school; they’d only been walking for a good ten minutes. “I did get us out like I told you.”

“Yeah, but you used me!” whined the eight-year-old. He was about to cross his arms but Jiyong refused to let go. So he stomped his feet instead.

“There was no other way!” Jiyong defended. He hoisted Seungri’s bag higher on his shoulder. “Besides, I won’t let you get into trouble. I promise.”

Seungri sniffed. “You better keep your promise, hyung. Or I’ll tell people on you too.”

“I understand,” Jiyong laughed, as if getting in trouble with Seungri (for Seungri) was ever going to be an actual punishment. He pointed to a house up ahead. “We’re here.”

Jiyong took out a set of keys an opened the front door.

“No one’s home yet,” Jiyong said as they stepped inside. “Dami-noona is still in school and my parents are at work.”

They removed their shoes and Jiyong led them through the halls and up the stairs. It was no mansion, but the house was big enough to comfortably home four people, but the furniture and decoration told of the family’s wealth. Seungri was more than a little bit impressed.

Jiyong took him to his room and made him stay put as he went back downstairs to get them water. Jiyong’s room was still bigger than his living room.

Jiyong’s bed stood in the center against the wall, two tall windows winged it at either side. On its opposite side were wall-closets and a TV set hung up over shelves lined with gaming consoles, a CD player, and a set of speakers. To the left of the bed was a trunk, and on the ceiling was a small air-conditioning unit, sleek and stylish, that Jiyong turned on before he left. To the right  was a table, littered with random little things, a laptop, and a tablet, by another tall window, and a small bookshelf barely filled with books.

Seungri felt lost in the room, more than a little bit awkward with all the expensive stuff. He made his way over the bed and went under the covers. It was so comfortable he buried himself up to his nose and made a noise of approval.

Restless, he again sat up and crawled over to look at what sparse books Jiyong did have. To his disappointment, they were nothing more than theirschool-regulated textbooks.

But on the lower shelves, there were tons of CDs – albums of idols and singers and music artists, old and new, local and foreign. He picked one up, one he could recognize: Maroon 5’s _Songs About Jane_. He’s heard some of their songs on the television and radio before. Though he couldn’t speak or understand Englishall too well, he did thought they were catchy.

Jiyong entered with a pitcher of water and two glasses on a tray. He placed it carefully on the table. He looked at Seungri expectantly and saw the CD in his hands. He grabbed it, neither of them said a word as the CD was placed in the player and _Harder to Breathe_ plays from the speakers.

Seungri was taken by the hand and was led back to the bed, Jiyong laying them together over the unmade sheets.

And they lay there, holding hands and staring at the ceiling as Maroon 5 blasted from his speakers. At least, Jiyong was. Seungri was entranced as Jiyong hummed along, mindless and relaxed, as if he’s done this sort of thing millions of times before.

“Hey, hyung,” he went, gentle and fluffy and all too soft, his mind running a thousand miles a second, but there was one question that strangely stood out. “Can you speak English?”

“I can,” Jiyong answered, unfazed. Later, when he was older and would be able to comprehend better, his parents would tell him that they were planning to move to America, so they gave him and Dami English lessons. But then life sometimes had different plans,  so they decided to stay. Jiyong kept taking English lessons until Middle School.

“That’s so cool, hyung,” the child praised. “I couldn’t understand what the song is about. It must be awesome to know what they’re saying.”

Jiyong giggled. “It’s a song about suffocating, Ri-ah.”

Seungri paused. He was perplexed. “Why would anybody sing a song about suffocating?”

Jiyong shrugged. “I like the next one better.”

Seungri turned to face him, holding Jiyong’s hand closer to his heart in sheer fascination. “Ohh,” he crooned. “What’s the next one?”

“I could sing it for you,” Jiyong offered, smile wide and excited at the prospect of showing off to the boy beside him. “I know all the lyrics and everything.”

Seungri gave an enthusiastic nod and they waited for _Harder to Breathe_ end. The track transitioned smoothly to _This Love_ and Seungri was hypnotized.

It was a song he’s heard before, definitely, and Adam Levigne’s voice was good – so good – enthralling and enticing, commanding and demanding attention, but downright losing to Jiyong’s.

At least, in Seungri’s mind.

To Seungri, Jiyong was sparkling as he tried his best to sing the American song, eyes closed, other hand waving about. He was too young to think of words that could describe it other than _amazing_ , but not too young to know that it made him feel something that the original singer couldn’t.

It made him wish that he could speak English, that he could understand what Jiyong was singing to him because it was such a precious moment. He wanted to run to his mother and tell her all about it. He wanted to be able to brag to all of his classmates tomorrow and all the days following that because Jiyong was just _amazing_.

Strangely, Jiyong didn’t so much as sing as say the lyrics melodically, yet Seungri was still impressed. Either that or he was in love, but no one could tell the difference, especially not them.

Jiyong opened his eyes, humming the final notes of the song so intimately to Seungri. Jiyong opened his eyes to see Seungri looking at him like he hung the silver stars in the darkest night skies.

“So?” Jiyong gulped, suddenly nervous.

Seungri scrambled, catching the older boy in surprise. Hand on Jiyong’s chest, Seungri kneeled beside him, jumping in place. “That was amazing!” he exclaimed, no other word coming to mind. “Amazing! Amazing!”

Jiyong felt his face heat up. No one has really been this excited about him before. His parents were always so calm and collected, his older sister always with a tease on her lips. Seungri, sweet, adorable, the most lovable person in the world Seungri, was jumping on him, telling him he was amazing, and Jiyong wished to keep him forever, _please, there was nothing he wanted more._

“Sing me another!” Seungri urged.

Jiyong couldn’t refuse. He was enslaved by Seungri by a single praise, made to move by the desire to keep the boy happy. He rolled off the bed, rushed to turn of the player and turn on his laptop. “I’ll sing you the same song,” he shakily said, inexplicably anxious.

“That’s fine,” Seungri grinned, hands on his knees and expectant.

“No,” Jiyong tried, daintily wiping the sweat that formed on his brow. He sat on his desk chair. “I mean, I made it onto a rap.”

Seungri stared at him, smile still formed on his face. “What?”

Jiyong almost laughed if not for the heavy _thump-thump-thump_ ’s of his heart. “You do know hat rap is, right?”

Seungri nodded.

“Just listen,” Jiyong said. He played an audio track from his laptop. Its sounded exactly like the last song they listened to.

And Jiyong started to rap, and it was better than Seungri thought it would be.Not that he was expecting anything, but if he were, it wouldn’t be anywhere near _this_.

In comparison, Jiyong’s singing was amateurish. Sure, maybe it was amazing for a ten-year-old, but this Jiyong was… he was…

His words came out in a continuous string of coherency and proper enunciation. Seungri caught them, the syllables Jiyong doesn’t really pronounce but it still all resulted melodiously, like emotion in action, in manifestation, quick and almost untouchable.

It was over too soon, and when Jiyong was rapping, his eyes were again closed, forehead scrunched in concentration. He reopened his eyes and he was expecting Seungri to be excited, more than he was than a while ago, because he was more confident with his rapping. He didn’t expect Seungri sitting still, staring at him with wide eyes and a frown. Not at all. He waited.

And the _thump-thump-thump_ of his heart became louder.

“S-seungri?” he called, undoubtedly unnerved. “Say something?”

But what was Seungri to say when it was all so…

_Disappointing?_

Seungri stood, hands stretched out and approached him with a certainty he didn’t rally have. His gentlest touch reached toward Jiyong, wrapped around the neck and pressed against the chest.

Seungri was just so disappointed at whoever made Jiyong feel that way when the older deserved all the love in the world.

“She’s a doodoo-head,” Seungri said to his hair.

“What?” Jiyong spluttered.

“Whoever hurt you,” Seungri explained sincerely; Jiyong couldn’t see him but he could hear it in his voice, “to make you write those lyrics and think those thoughts, whoever she is, she’s a doodoo-head.”

It happened again, but more intensely than ever before. Seungri had a special way of pulling at Jiyong’s heart strings and it renders Jiyong weak, jelly-boned and milk-muscled.

Jiyong wrapped his arms around the younger, pulled him closer. He sighed, “you’re too cute, Seungri-ah.”

They stayed in that position for how long Jiyong didn’t know. Seungri smelled like the sun and sweat and hours spent in school and playing around. Seungri smelled nothing short of perfection, so close and inviting, and it made Jiyong nervous and excited and marvel if any of this was right.

So he pushed the other slightly away, without force nor malice, and smiled. “It’s okay, though,” he said. “I didn’t really write because of anyone. It was just my imagination.”

“Oh.” Seungri dropped on Jiyong, catching the latter in surprise and their chair rolled a bit backwards. “That makes sense. No one in their right mind would want to hurt you.”

It had been said so simply, as if Jiyong could open hisscience book and he could find those exact same words written there. He was speechless, really, and left with no there urges except to wrap his scrawny arms around Seungri’s equally scrawny body.

Suddenly, Seungri shot up from his seat on Jiyong’s lap, almost dragging the older face-first into the ground.

He found a basketball in the corner of the room.

“Hyung!” he called, running over and taking the ball into his pudgy little hands. “Do you play?”

Jiyong flushed. “I, uh, we have a ring at the back?” he said as a way of answering, because in all honesty, he has never held that ball that didn’t end in hitting himself or some other family member.

“Oh. My. God,” exaggerated Seungri. “What are we staying here for?!”

The eight-year-old high-tailed it out of the room before any protest could be made. Jiyong’s bubble of comfort and tranquility had burst, replaced by fear and anxiety. It hadn’t crossed his mind how the younger was able to find and get to their backyard in record time.

Seungri was already dribbling the ball inexpertly about when he finally made it to their backyard.

“Hyung! Hyung!” cried the little boy. “Watch this, hyung!” He threw the ball to the ring positioned beside theirgarden. Oh how Jiyong wished Seungri was more interested in that instead.

The ball miraculously made its way through the hoop and bounced its way to Jiyong’s feet. Jiyong felt stuck. There was no way he could pull himself out of this when Seungri had been too  cute shooting with literally every part of his body, giving his all in jumping and beckoning Jiyong to _come and play with him._

“Maybe I can just watch you play,” Jiyong nevertheless tried, his feet already making its way to Seungri. “Right? So I won’t be a bother to you.”

Seungri ran to him. “Nonsense,” he scoffed, taking the ball and Jiyong’s hand. “It’s always more fun when we play together!”

“Okay then,” Jiyong squeaked.

Seungri laughed. “So cute, hyung! You’re so cute!”

The next hour was filled with Seungri telling him to _bend his knees_ or _jump higher_ or _you’ve got to believe in yourself, hyung, you can do it_ , but none of his shots made it. It was frustrating, to say the least. He wasn’t that much of an active boy. In truth, the only reason he played in school so frequently  was because he wanted to spend more tine with Seungri. He didn’t bring Seungri home for more running and playing and exercise. He brought him home for snacks or drawing or whatever.

Suddenly, Jiyong’s father burst through the backyard door, Jiyong’s name screamed from his lips.

_Oops_.

“Kwon Jiyong,” he scolded, moving like a storm to the offending boy. The man crouched beside Jiyong and grabbed him by the arms. The ten-year-old look terrified. “Why are you not at school, waiting for me?! Do you not know how worried I was? We were looking for you for over an hour!”

“I-I,” stuttered Jiyong, “I forgot?”

The man went hysterical. “You – you forgot? You forgot I fetched you everyday, like I have ever since forever? You forgot?”

“Appa,” the boy appealed, smiling a small, nervous, and apologetic smile. “Forgive me, appa. But I did get home, didn’t I? I am awesome, right?”

The man breathed and Seungri was surprised. Jiyong must have had the man wrapped around his finger since he hugged the child tight and said, “Oh, you main source of my headache. What am I going to do with you?”

“Appaaaa,” Jiyong whined eventually, after hugging his father back. “I can’t breathe.”

Jiyong’s father let go and scanned his boy. Then he scrunched his nose in comic distaste. “You’re sweaty,” he observed. “Why are you sweaty.”

Jiyong shrugged and nodded his head toward Seungri. “I was playing basketball with Seungri.”

“You don’t like playing basketball,” his father, but then his eyes landed on the smaller boy and, “oh, you’re real.”

Jiyong rolled his eyes. “Yes, appa. Of course he’s real. I just don’t make people up.”

His father dusted his hands and bent to Seungri’s level. “Hello there,” he said, a little but sheepish. “Sorry you had to see that. Jiyong could be a little difficult.” Seungri liked him already. “What’s your name?”

“Seungri,” Seungri said.

“Seung _hyun_ ,” Jiyong interjected.

“Seung-what?” the man asked.

Seungri laughed. “Actually, sir, my real name is Lee Seunghyun,” he explained. “Seungri is just a nickname.”

The man hummed in understanding. “So I can call you Seungri, then?”

Jiyong slapped him on thee thigh. “No, appa,” said he like his father was the one who was ten-years-old. “Only I can call him Seungri.”

“Ah, is that so?”

The question was directed at Seungri, but it was a question that he also wanted to ask. Jiyong’s eyes held all the answers. “Yes,” he said with unexpected certainty.

Jiyong looked so proud.

The man nodded and offered his hand to the little boy who apparently has already learned cues from his little boy. Seungri took it easily. “Come with me, then, Seunghyun. What do you say to chocolate cake?”

Seungri squealed adorably. “I never say no to cake!”

The man laughed. “Good answer.”

Jiyong chased them off. “I want chocolate cake too!”

And there was a different kind of happiness that surrounded him.

 

 

 

“So, Seunghyun-ah,” Jiyong’s father began as he placed a piece of chocolate cake in front of Seungri. “How old are you?”

They were in the kitchen. Seungri was seated on a stool by the kitchen counter, ready with a fork in his hand and a glass of milk on the side. He watched as Jiyong’s father take a slice for his son.

Jiyong’s father was a young man. He looked warm and kind and he must be a very good person because he gave Seungri chocolate cake _and_ milk.

“Eight,” Seungri answered diligently. He shoveled a piece of cake in his pie-hole and moaned.

“Third grade, huh? How’d you two meet?”

“Fifth grade, sir,” Seungri said in chocolate-induced ecstasy. “Jiyong-hyung just talked to me on the swings on his birthday.”

The man’s hand paused on its way to the drawer for a fork. “He approached you?” he clarified.

“Yes, sir.”

“Huh.” The man observed the boy with the darkness in his eyes closely. Then his vision shifted to the boy who would later become international.

_Huh_.

“Where do you live, Seunghyun-ah?” the man settled on instead of continuing that… _intriguing_ line of thinking. The boys were just still too young, and this was a (fun) conversation to be had with his wife. “I’ll take you home.”

“I live in a house,” Seungri said simply.

“Yes,” the man tried again, “but where can your house be found?”

“On a street?”

“Which street?”

“Our street.”

“What?”

“Our house can be found on our street.”

“All right, this isn’t getting us anywhere. Literally,” Mr. Kwon sighed. “Why don’t you give me your parents’ number instead? So that we can ask them you pick you up?”

Jiyong was not a violent child. He was quiet and gentle – assertive and stubborn with his wants and needs, but he was cool-headed and calculated, already almost like a lawyer at the young age of ten. So no one was really expecting him to slam his hands and fork on the counter with a roar of “No!” and the deepest frown his father has seen on the boy.

_Okay. Weird._

“I want to spend more time with him!” cried Jiyong.

“He’s not going away forever, son,” said the man. “He’s just going home. You can still see him tomorrow.”

“But, but – s”

Mr. Kwon shushed him. “You have been irresponsible, Jiyong, and you dragged Seunghyun into it, too. I was lucky you got home safely. What do you think his parents are feeling? This is kidnapping, do you understand? You could go to jail for this. Do you want that?”

Now, Seungri was no violent child either. When something didn’t go his way, his eyes would tear up or his nose would sniff or his lips would wobble. Wallowing in silent sorrow, that was his cup of tea. No one else in the room really knew that, but when he screamed a devastated “No!” it should be no surprise that they were… well, surprised.

The littlest of them struggled to get down from his stool with his plate of cake and fork in hand. “Let’s go, hyung!” he said with so much urgency, Mr. Kwon was more than a little bit stunned. “You can’t go to jail!”

“Uh,” went Mr. Kwon. He didn’t exactly know where to start. “Seunghyun-ah? Where are you bringing that plate?”

Seungri took a bite of cake as he wobbled to the front door. “I’ll eat it on the way, Mr. Kwon!” he said as he chewed on the moist delicacy. “Hurry up, hyung! Hurry! Hurry!”

 

 

 

At this point, Mrs. Kwon liked to tell it as thus:

She had just gone home to pick up some paperwork she’d forgotten before hauling her ass back to the boutique. It had been a hectic week as they’d been expanding. Her husband had gallantly offered his help, but it had always been _her_ baby and she wanted to do it on her own. Plus, he already had his hands full with his case load and insistence on his very hands-on parenting approach.

So, she’d gone home and the first thing she saw when she opened the door was the cutest, most adorable boy (she always though her son was more handsome than cute) with panda-like eyes, cake-filled cheeks, and crumb-dusted lips.

She had a surge of sudden epiphany, a certain need to dress him up in panda-inspired clothes, and maybe drag her little own Yongie along in dragon-attire. It was the first spark that fueled the fire of a future empire in child apparel, and she had no other to thank for it.

But it was still quite baffling how a child could get int their house – and their refrigerator – when Dami was still at school and Jiyong was practically an introvert.

“Honey?” she called. “Do we have another child that I don’t know about?”

Her husband appeared on the doorway like a summoned spawn. Meanwhile, Jiyong slowly dragged Seungri back into the kitchen without his parents noticing.

“Dear,” the man panted. “You’re home early.”

“Explain?” she prompted, raising her eyebrows and crossing her arms. Her husband was always fun to watch when he was flustered.

“Jiyong,” he hesitated, “brought home a friend.”

“Our Jiyong?” she emphasized.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“Are you sure?” she doubted.

He scoffed. “Dear, Jiyong has friends. He’s not _totally_ anti-social.”

“Yes,” she gave. “But he’s not liked any of them worthy enough to invite them home.”

Mr. Kwon flushed. “He wasn’t exactly _invited_.”

Mrs. Kwon sighed. “Explain.”

And so he told her.

 

 

If Mrs. Kwon thought the surprises had been over that day, she was dead wrong.

She wanted to scream at her husband for losing their child.

But _he_ didn’t lose their child.

She wanted to scream at her husband for kidnapping another’s child.

But _he_ didn’t kidnap another’s child.

When se looked down to look at the stray child once again, he was gone, and both of almost had a heart attack because then they’d both lost another’s child.

So when they’d rushed to the kitchen, they were relieved and frustrated because their little Kwon Jiyong kept making so much trouble it wasn’t funny anymore.

(Back then. But now, it was a very fond family memory.)

They rushed to the kitchen and found the two children situated on the wide kitchen counter. Seungri was sitting cross-legged, licking icing off his fingers, chocolate smudged also on his forearms… and nape. Jiyong, on the other hand, was immaculate, a fork on one hand and the empty cardboard where the rest of the cake was supposed to be. Judging by his own untouched plate, he must have fed it all to his pretty guest.

Mrs. Kwon picked her boy up and over her shoulder. She gave his butt a pat and smiled sheepishly at Seungri. “I just need to talk to my son for a minute. Okay?”

“Okay,” the youngest answered sweetly.

It was all so ridiculously cute, her throat dried.

“Right,”she voiced. “Right. Well, okay.”

Jiyong waved at Seungri as he got hauled by his mother from her back.

Mr. Kwon approached him instead as Mrs. Kwon scolded her son none too subtly in the next room.

Seungri looked up at him. “Is Jiyong-hyung in trouble?”

Mr. Kwon sighed. “Not going to lie to you, son. He really _really_ is.”

Only Seungri could make fear look so endearing. “Is he going to go to prison?”

“Nah,” the father laughed. “But he might get grounded. So, yeah, actually. Maybe.”

The little boy sniffed. “I’m sorry.”

The man ruffled the child’s hair. He has never used the nickname _son_ before. Not to anyone other than Jiyong, at least. Maybe it was just because he had no reason to. His parental instincts told him otherwise.

“It’s not your fault, Seunghyun-ah,” he sighed. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up?”

The boy nodded. The man took him to his arms and carried him over to the sink. He turned on the faucet and cleansed the boy’s sticky face with water, then his nape, then his hands. He was happy he met the friend that had Jiyong so noisy and socialrecently. Jiyong was usually so quiet and disliked to run that much around. He preferred to blast music in his room and write (sometimes dance). But apparently, this Seungri kid had him telling stories and laughing and coming home all sweaty and just being brighter and happier.

“Does your father pick you up after school?” he asked in the meanwhile. He could hear Jiyong whining an trying to explain in the background. He could feel life was going to get interesting from then on.

“I don’t have one,” said Seungri so nonchalantly. “Eomma said he went to heaven when I was a baby.”

“Oh. Sorry,” the man said.

“Why?” the child innocently asked, and the father realized that Seungri might have been too young still to appreciate the sentiment.

“So your mom picks you up, then?” he instead asked.

“Yeah,” the boy said easily. “But she usually picks me up late. Her work keeps her.”

The man smiled a little. That was a weight off his back.

“All right. If you give me her number now,  maybe we can arrange something and tell her you’re here,” he said generously.

“Okay,” Seungri breathed. “But I was wondering if we can play more basketball. I’m getting good at it.”

The man’s smile grew bigger. “Sure, son.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Jiyong didn’t actually get to meet Seungri’s mother that day.

Seungri’s mother was a real estate agent who had to stay at the office until 5PM. She tried her best to limit her work until that time only, but when most of her clients were only available outside that time, she had no choice but to oblige.

When Jiyong’s father had called her that day, she was just about to phone the school to kindly ask if they could take care of her little boy until she was able to pick him up around 7PM. When she heard that _the_ Jiyong who Seungri kept talking about was the son of a _Kwon_ , known and trusted individuals around their community, she took no time to shamelessly ask them to take care of her son instead until she got off work. They happily obliged and gave their address so that she could pick her son up later on.

However, when she did pick her son up, the boys had already been asleep. Seungri had been easy to wake, but Jiyong had always slept like a log, even when the younger boy had to be pried from the elder’s grasp.

Jiyong had thrown a tantrum because Seungri was nowhere when he woke up, and his parents had never had a more difficult morning.

At least, they told him (which surprisingly worked), Jiyong didn’t have to say goodbye.

 

 

 

Seungri’s 9thbirthday rolled in. Jiyong had gone to Seungri’s classroom with a cupcake, a tiny candle, and a lighter. In the empty classroom, he’d asked Mrs. Jeong to light it for him, as per his mother’s instructions.

The tiny fire burned orange as Jiyong raised the cupcake in front of Seungri’s face. “Make a wish, Seungri-ah,” he said reverently, the small flame flickering.

Seungri’s lips quirk up in amusement. He hadn’t expected anything from Jiyong. He was a peculiar kid; he must have been the only one who thought it awkward to get greeted or receive gifts on his birthday.

But this was Jiyong.

And Jiyong had always been his exception.

_Of course Jiyongie-hyung would remember my birthday. Of course Jiyongie-hyung would get me a present._

So he blew the candle out, tiny hands on Jiyong’s own. Eyes closed and a little mesmerized, his heart felt full at the gesture. Jiyong was so thoughtful, his skin felt prickly and hot, like he was on fire from both embarrassment. Most likely, it was his body rebelling from the newness of the feeling – a sort of happy awkwardness. He was about to communicate his gratitude, but it seemed that Jiyong was more excited than he.

“So,” he pried, bouncing on his heels. “What did you wish for?”

Seungri hadn’t had too much birthdays in his life, but he was sure there was a tradition that, “I can’t tell you my wish, hyung, else it won’t happen.”

Jiyong was affronted. “I told you mine,” he whined. “You should tell me yours too!”

Seungri put his cute little button nose up in the air. “Well, that’s your fault.”

Jiyong deflated. He hadn’t actually expected Seungri to refuse to tell him his wish. It was horrible, the idea that there was a secret part of Seungri that he didn’t get to be a part of. “Well, if you don’t tell me,” he had to try, “how can I wish it too?”

Seungri was a logical child. Scratch that, no, Seungri was not a logical child because there was nothing logical about thinking that eating butterflies could make you grow pretty wings and fly. Rather, he was a child one could _negotiate_ with, and those were the best type of children because at some level they could at least be _controlled._

So Seungri – and his humongous soft spot for Jiyong – liked the idea of _sharing_ wishes.

“All right, then,” he said, making Jiyong light up like the Christmas lights that were already hung all over the school. “I wished… I wished to climb Mount Everest.”

“Seungri-ah,” Jiyong scoffed. “We’re in Korea and you’re already bundled up in three thick coats and a scarf.”

“Then I’ll climb it during summer.”

Jiyong laughed. The confused look on the other’s face told him he didn’t know why. Jiyong could not fight with his boy.

Jiyong peeled the paper off the cupcake and plucked the candle. Like a good hyung, he fed it to the kid in front of him. “Mount Everest, huh?” he wondered. “What about Egypt, then?”

“Still wanna go,” said the boy who would never actually learn not to talk when his mouth was full. “The number of wishes we can make are unlimited, anyway.”

 _Well_ , Jiyong thought, _that was true._

 

 

In all her years of teaching, standing in front of a room full of children who tried their best to give her their utmost attention since she was popularly considered as a strict teacher, Mrs. Jeong has never felt more invisible as when Kwon Jiyong and that Lee brat would get immersed in their own tiny self-built world.

 

_Huh._

 

 

On the last day of classes before the winter break, mere days after Seungri’s birthday, the newly nine-year-old managed to disappear from the older boy for the whole day.

When Jiyong had waited and waited outside Seungri’s classroom the whole recess time and the latter had failed to appear, something boiled inside him. Jiyong knew Seungri wasn’t absent – his classmates had tattled and his new panda bag was displayed proudly on his desk. The bell rung and Jiyong grudgingly had to return to his classroom.

He went and tried again during lunch time, but to no avail. Seungri was gone by the time he reached his classroom and no matter how hard he looked, Jiyong couldn’t find him.

To say he was cranky was a definite understatement. All his teachers after recess almost sent him to Guidance.

Jiyong was a disciplined and smart child. This, the whole school knew. He was top student, but he had no problems in the academic sphere. He had all his teachers impressed (mostly with his talent), really. Therefore, when the sudden change in character took over his pleasant mood and made him breathe fire, he was let off with a warning, all precedents considered.

On the other hand, Seungri seemed to already have made residence in Guidance. In fact, Ms. Yang, a fresh-out-of-college BS Psychology major and the school’s councilor, was probably one of his closest friends.

He had been sent various reasons – ranging from unknowingly saying _bad_ and vulgar words to accidentally setting himself on fire – none really too serious but nonetheless stressful.

It was no secret to the school’s faculty that Seungri was left at home alone at times because of his mother’s work and their family situation. Funny enough to his mother, Seungri never actually caused trouble when he was alone. He made food for himself, did all his homework, didn’t make a mess, found time to clean his room, locked the door, kept the windows closed, and asked who it was when someone knocked. He even refused to let his own mother in that one time he watched a documentary about a gang whose modus operandi was pretending to be a family member to gain access in the house.

So Seungri was not a totally irresponsible child (he was just easily impressed, very curious, and incredibly adventurous) and Jiyong was not a total angel (he just had emotions and desires, suppressed and undiscovered).

 

Jiyong stomped his way to the school gate, grumbling and kicking stones along the way, careless as to whoever and whatever he hit. He still hadn’t seen Seungri all day and it sucked – _sucked_ – because that was not how he wanted to spend his last day of school.

His father was already there, wearing his favorite ink blue suit and a silk burgundy tie to match. To his surprise, however, the lawyer was talking to Seungri, who looked all pretty and plump in his fluffy yellow jacket, all fine and dandy and in the arms of a woman he didn’t know.

He didn’t care, though. It didn’t matter who the woman was. He finally found Seungri.

 _Seungri_.

_He finally found Seungri._

He ran, his feet bringing him quickly to the boy perched on the arms of some other person that wasn’t him. He ran and he heard his father call his name, saw Seungri turn to him and frown.

This boy who disappeared from him, whom he waited for, whom he spent time to find, this boy who frowned when he had no right to frown. He wasn’t the one who got worried. He wasn’t the one who felt desperate. He wasn’t the one who tried to stop crying because he wasn’t the one who has never felt so lost and lonely in his short ten-year-old life.

Tears streamed down Jiyong’s face and when he got close enough, he grabbed the tail of Seungri’s shirt and pulled with the whole of his body, with everything he’s got.

The woman’s grip almost slipped as Jiyong was suddenly yanked from the ground, up into his own father’s arms. His screams came automatically.

“Where were you?!” he demanded. “I looked everywhere!”

Seungri was held tighter within the woman’s embrace. Jiyong tried to escape. He lashed and wriggled and violently squirmed, reaching for Seungri. His father held him by his waist, shielding with his body just as the woman did.

“Jiyong, what has gotten into you?!” he heard his father scold.

“Hold your child, please,” the woman spat, nervous that she almost dropped the child in her arms.

Jiyong was agitated. “Let me go!” he cried. “He’s the one who disappeared from me! He’s the one at fault!”

Seungri pried himself away from the woman, urging her to put him down. He bravely stepped in front of her, eyes earnest and apologetic. “It’s okay, eomma,” he said. “He won’t hurt me.”

“Seunghyun-ah,” she warned.

“He won’t hurt me,” the child repeated. “Please let him go Mr. Kwon.”

Seungri’s voice was steady, certain and so full of trust that Jiyong wouldn’t hurt him. Jiyong’s father was oblivious as to what had been happening to his child lately, why he’d been so violent and stubborn when it came to Seungri. He watched, as close as a busy but hands-on parent could, and Seungri was (or was supposed to be) a good influence on his child. Jiyong became more active, more social, more talkative… overall more _cheerful_ , and he could easily see it was because of this young lad who had the peculiar ability to make things brighter.

He was nervous about his child, but if this recently turned nine-year-old boy had faith in Jiyong, then he should too.

He stepped aside.

Jiyong was seething. Teeth bared and forehead creased, he stepped forward, looking for all intents and purposes ready to punch Seungri. He brought his arm up.

Heartbeats pounded in his father’s ears. He almost reached out to grab Jiyong’s arms again, when his boy suddenly surged forward and dropped his whole being onto the youngest of them.

It was all rather cliché. Mr. Kwon had to snort.

Jiyong wound his arms around Seungri tight and buried his nose in the crook of the younger’s neck. “Shit, Seungri-ah,” he cried, and his father decided to scold him later, after all the kid drama has subsided. “Where were you?”

Seungri’s initial surprise had gone. He embraced his hyung in the same way, as close as possible, and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he squeaked. “I… I didn’t want to see you.”

Jiyong balked at the confession. He held Seungri at an arms length and glared intently. “Why?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Seungri blushed. “I… I… had a gift for you and I lost it. I was looking for it all over school.”

There was a pause.

“Did you find it?” At some level, Jiyong knew that it was the wrong question to ask. Although, all his anger and frustration dissipated when he heard that Seungri had a gift for him. Maybe the better question would be _what the gift was for_ , but he never really cared about things like that.

Seungri blushed. “No.”

“That’s okay,” said Jiyong, patting Seungri’s shoulder, but the pout on both of their faces indicated otherwise.

“Was that what this was all about?” a feminine voice laughed, making Jiyong look up to the woman in the smart suit and high heels. She crouched down to Seungri despite her tight pencil skirt and gave him a pat on the head. “You didn’t lose it, sweetie. You left it at home. I have it in the car.”

The panda boy’s frown disappeared in an instant. He vibrated in joy, suddenly restless and immensely persuasive in his demand of “Let’s get it! Let’s get it!Let’s get it!”

Jiyong had gone through an arsenal of emotions, but it ended with a gladness that Seungri’s mother miraculously chose that day to pick Seungri up on time.

 

 

A winter hat and mittens.

Seungri gave him a winter hat and a pair of mittens as a _Christmas present._ It was perfect for the cold weather of Korea and Jiyong was slightly embarrassed because he had forgotten that it was Christmas season.

(He remembered Seungri’s birthday though, but no one was about to point it out for one reason or another.)

It was too good a gift, in his honest opinion, because he couldn’t stop thinking about how he was matching with Seungri as the younger showed him his own pair.

His heart was doing the thump-thump-thumps again and he couldn’t stop it.

When he looked up, Seungri’s mother had just finished putting on his gloves for him. The hat had panda ears and the mittens were panda paws and if only Seungri’s jacket were black, then it would have been perfect. His own hat had a dragon tail and his own mittens had dragon talons and he was smart enough to know why they chose the design for him.

“Try it on, Yongie,” encouraged the other child who looked so warm. “Hurry!”

Jiyong placed the hat on himself and asked his dad to help him with the gloves.

“You’re so cute,” his father gushed. “Eomma would be so happy.”

“Appa, take our picture,” Jiyong nudged. He stood close to Seungri, sticking his side to the other as close as he could.

Seungri’s mother grabbed her phone just as Jiyong’s father did and took their picture as well. Immediately right after, Jiyong bowed.

“Thank you,” he told her. “And I’m sorry for hurting Seungri. I didn’t mean to.” Then he turned to his younger friend. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything.”

Seungri smiled, cheeky and totally without guilt. “It’s okay. I stole something from you already.”

“What?” Jiyong asked. He meant _what did you say?_ But Seungri understood it as _what did you take?_

“The Maroon 5 CD,” he promptly answered.

“Seungri,” the woman chided, scandalized that her son could do such a thing.

Yet to Jiyong’s father, it was a hoot. His laughter came deep from his stomach and the conflicted face on his son was too funny. “That’s what you get for kidnapping him, son,” he heckled.

Seungri was just proud he made someone laugh.

Jiyong loved that CD. It had been the first one he was able to convince his parents to get (because it was cheap and they were fans of the band), but more importantly, it was the CD they’d first listened to.

But, his soul immediately and with full certainty supplied, since Seungri was his, then he didn’t lose the CD.

Not at all.

 

 

 

It took Jiyong all of four days to start complaining that he missed Seungri.

He’d hog the phone all day and talk with him until his ears hurt, and then transfer to the other one until that hurt, and over and over again until they fell asleep. Four days, really. It had only been four days since he saw Seungri and he was already so whiny and frowny and – this was according to Dami –superbly bitchy.

“Jiyong!” Mrs. Kwon screamed that particular second night. Jiyong’s all-day complaining had gotten into her veins, especially since she had to bring Jiyong to work with her that day. “Put the phone down! It’s time for dinner.”

The child raced out of his room to peer at his mother at the bottom of the stairs. “But eomma!” he yelled back. “I just got to talk to Seungri!”

He had the wireless home phone covered with his hand, but Mrs. Kwon thought it was useless considering all the screaming, and that her son was holding the phone upside-down.

“You’ve been on the phone since 4PM! Either you come down here or I carry you down!” she nevertheless bellowed.

“Listen to your mother, Ji,” her husband supported from his seat in the kitchen. “You know she’s strong enough.”

Jiyong knew she could. Jiyong was sure she would. Heck, he knew he was already in so much trouble, but Seungri was still on the other line and they’d been talking about the stars and he just couldn’t seem to let it go.

He realized he’d been covering the phone on the wrong side and frantically reversed it.

He could hear Seungri laughing on the line, and then say something he almost didn’t catch.

His mother was out of patience. His silence was as infuriating as his noise and she just wanted to eat dinner and question where she went wrong. “Kwon Jiyong, I swear I will ground you and ban you from the phone if you don’t –”

Jiyong was suddenly past her and sitting on his spot in the dining table, smiling at her so sweetly as if he did nothing wrong.

 _Spaghetti,_ Jiyong thought _, Seungri would like spaghetti._

Never mind that spaghetti was his favorite food. Never mind that it was prepared as a prize for him because he’d come with his mother so that she could dress him up in all kinds of clothes to serve as an inspiration for her new line. Never mind that. Never mind him.

 _I’ll still be here,_ Seungri had said, _I’ll wait for you_.

Never mind that he was probably spraying sauce all over everything in his haste.

Never mind that they’d be separated all vacation.

If he could have Seungri wait for him, then there was really nothing that could stop him to get back to his boy.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

In hindsight, Mr. Kwon guessed that he shouldn’t have expected his son to just kidnap Seungri _that one time_. Really, it was just bad lawyering on his part to not have been able to foresee the possibility of a ten-year-old boy not listening to his father.

Within the first week from resumption of classes, Jiyong has managed to sneak themselves out three times and get scolded for the other times he kept on trying but failed. None of the adults, who tried to tell the boy otherwise, didn’t know why they bothered in the first place. Even Seungri tried to talk Jiyong out of it, but the younger’s protests fell on deaf ears. Then again, his protests were weak, and it wasn’t like it was hard to bribe him with a piece of chocolate, a game of basketball, or with a nap on Jiyong’s strangely comfortable and homey bed. (Seungri’s developed a deep infatuation with Jiyong’s comforter that the older liked to use at the younger’s disadvantage. It worked out for the both of them.)

 So their parents came to the necessary conclusion that something needed to be done before their children got themselves into irreversible trouble, like getting lost or getting it into their heads that they could go somewhere far instead of just the house. Therefore, after talking with the principal and after all the proper letters, consent forms, and whatever else paper work needed was passed, Jiyong’s parents were allowed to pick Seungri up and vice versa.

Hence, in the span of four short months since, the two became so inseparable, everyone noticed. Jiyong became known as the boy who was always with Seungri, and Seungri became known as the boy who followed Jiyong around. The older couldn’t say he hated it; the younger couldn’t care less. All in all, it was an arrangement Jiyong could gladly live with.

 

His days went a little like this:

Mornings would be difficult. Sleep was one of his most precious pleasures in life. His mother would often literally drag him off the bed just so he could get his feet under him and on the ground. Breakfast would always be something light, maybe cereal or fruit or a little bit of both, because he was never awake enough to stomach something heartier.

It was always quiet-filled mornings in the Kwon household. Mrs. Kwon took care of the whole lot, had everything ready for her family and for her day at her expanding fashion boutique. Mr. Kwon, on the other hand, was from whom Jiyong got all his morning habits from. Although he was easier to wake up (he had years of practice), he would go about his routine as sluggishly and tiredly as his son. Dami, who was a girl energetic enough for any time of the day, was courteous enough not to make any unnecessary noise. On his more awake mornings, Jiyong would ruin the quiet by hogging the bathroom, leading to a very annoyed and a screaming older sister.

Dami was lucky these mornings were rare.

His father would take his leave earlier than the rest of them, announcing his undying love to his children and eternal loyalty to his wife. Jiyong would think it sweet, Dami would jokingly gag, and their mother would only roll her eyes. A while later, the three of them would pile into their mother’s car so that she could take them to school and she could go to work. He would get dropped off first, as his school was closer, with a kiss from his mother and some vague encouragement like _make them cry, squirt_ or _don’t worry, you don’t look too ugly today_ from his sister.

Sometimes he would see Seungri before class. Sometimes he wouldn’t. It all depended on whether or not Seungri came on time that day. Either way, Jiyong would wait by the gate, writing rhymes in his head or creating melodies or both, until the bell would ring and he’d have to get to class.

Class would be the easiest and hardest part of the day. His teachers and lessons weren’t that difficult, but the boredom and impatience for break time would often get to him. He did well; that didn’t necessarily mean he enjoyed his classes – except maybe art and music, and P.E., unexpectedly, because apparently he’d been doing better.

Then recess would come and Jiyong would haul himself over to Seungri’s class with whatever snack his mother had packed for him. Sometimes Seungri would come right out. Sometimes he wouldn’t, and Jiyong would take peek inside to search for the panda boy.

“Jiyong!” Seungri had screamed at him during one of those times. The chairs and tables of his classroom were scattered haphazardly and he was standing on the teacher’s desk. “The floor is lava! Don’t move! I’ll save you!”

The younger jumped dangerously on the nearest table. It wobbled but he was able to obtain a stable footing. He then dragged a chair to get to the next desk, which he got on so that he could drag the same chair closer to the door where Jiyong was.

The older boy would always indulge the boy with whatever game he wanted to play with his classmates. For some reason, since he started coming over to Seungri’s class, various fifth graders had also started to drift and play. What started as games Seungri played with his classmates became games with his classmates and Jiyong, and eventually games he played with other students from their grade.

They’d both have fun and build more friendships while keeping each other close and eating snacks.

Lunch time would be tamer. They would actually sit down somewhere they could eat together and properly talk. They’d lay all the food down in front of them and share, because Jiyong’s mom liked to cook non-Korean food and Seungri’s mom was remarkably good with a spatula. Sometimes they’d go to the playground where they could ignore all the other surrounding kids. Sometimes they’d go to the library where sometimes they’d eat with Mrs. Go or sometimes just by themselves in their corner where the sun would shine behind Seungri like a halo. Sometimes, somewhere else.

Upon dismissal, it’s Seungri who would go to Jiyong, as the teachers sometimes liked to talk to Jiyong after class about matters like participating in this program or joining this contest. It didn’t usually take long nor was it boring to wait for Jiyong. At least Seungri got to find out the other boy’s progress and decisions about his extra-curricular activities.

Sometimes Jiyong would carry Seungri’s bag for him. Never the other way around. The younger always offered. The older always refused.

Sometimes Seungri’s mother would pick him up, when she got off work early. Sometimes she picks them both up on the choice moments when Jiyong’s father was too busy. More often, it was the man who picked them up so that Seungri could stay at their place until his mother picked him up.

Always, they would get asked how school went. Always, Seungri would enthusiastically answer. Although, he had a tendency to exaggerate and make things up, so Jiyong had to jump in and tell the story himself on more than one occasion.

Their parents had set some ground rules that had to be followed whether they were together or not, regardless of whether they were at the Lee’s or the Kwon’s. They could rest a while after they got home, have a small snack if they wanted to, but before they could play or do whatever else, homework needed to be done. Whoever parent was available was to check and give their approval until they could go on. After, sometimes they’d play games, sometimes they’d just lie down and talk, listening to the many CDs Jiyong owned, but always, when the clock struck ten, they’d have to go to bed. Sometimes they’d lend each other clothes because one of them would refuse to wash up if the other didn’t and it led to their owning enough of each other’s clothes in each other’s closet for spontaneous overnight stays. Luckily, Seungri, who was smaller than Jiyong, liked to wear shirts two sizes larger.

(Which was enough indication for Seungri’s mother because, as her _son_ liked to put it, he wanted to be like _eomma who wears dresses_. Not that she ever stopped him, but she drew the line when he started grabbing her eyeliners and blush-on’s. Her son was clumsy enough to poke himself blind, and children shouldn’t wear make-up until they were at least fifteen-years-old, in her honest opinion.)

 

 

 

One time, when Seungri’s mother had to accompany her boss to a sudden out-of-the-city meeting with a very important client, the Kwon’s were more than happy to let the boy who made their boy brighter stay the night.

That day, Jiyong chose to sleep before doing his homework. Seungri had chosen to finish his while Jiyong caught his z’s, and no matter how much Jiyong begged for help when he woke up later on to find Seungri finished and already playing a game on his console, he wouldn’t give it. Seungri was tired, he’d done his share. Jiyong should do his own work and shouldn’t have slacked off.

Besides, Mrs. Kwon was cooking up something good in the kitchen.

Truth be told, as Seungri wobbled to the kitchen, he’d gained some weight ever since he hung out more around the Kwons. For some reason, all of them liked to feed him, even Dami, and Seungri had never been one to say no to food. Maybe it was the way he chewed with a small pout. Maybe it was the way he ate with a one-tracked mind. Seungri didn’t really know, but he wasn’t about to complain anytime soon. Not when his mother was so thrilled that her son had finally gained a little bit of weight so that his fingers and cheeks weren’t the only parts of him that were chubby anymore.

Mrs. Kwon was stirring something in a deep, blue bowl by the counter. Hip strutted and foot tapping on the ground rhythmically, light jazz music was playing in the background. Seungri watched as she swayed slightly, entranced and admiring. Then she turned and ladled the sticky liquid-like substance from the bowl to the frying pan. It sizzled softly, the smell of butter and cake permeated through the air.

The little boy climbed one of the tall seats. “Pancakes, auntie?” he asked, not bothering to announce his arrival. Mrs. Kwon knew he was there; nothing ever got past her.

“Just a light snack for you boys,” she affirmed, her voice twinkling like an angel’s harp. “You must be hungry after working on your school work.”

Seungri propped himself on his elbows and eyed the delicious stack by the stove. “Well, I am,” he confessed. “Jiyongie-hyung is still doing his.”

“In that case,” she sang, taking a plate and forking freshly-made pancakes on it, “a reward is in store for you.”

She served him the plate and went to the fridge to take out a bottle of syrup. It was strawberry – Seungri’s favourite. The boy has eaten enough together with Jiyong to affect their boy’s tastes. Seungri has eaten with them enough for them to know his preferences.

Seungri took it all with a grateful heart. “I love you, auntie!” he was unafraid to say.

Mrs. Kwon laughed and watched fondly as the little boy in front of him stuffed his face. She was too happy, positively glad, because nothing got past her, because she was sure Seunghyun would grow up as a good man. She could see it, how he was perfect, how she felt so peaceful knowing, despite the kids being so _young_ and _innocent._

Her husband still had his questions, lawyer that he was. But nothing got past her.

“I love you too, Seunghyun-ah,” she told him sincerely with a smile.

Seungri grinned back.

 

 

 

 

 

One time, when Jiyong’s parents had to go back to his mother’s province to take care of some sensitive family matter he never really found out about, he found himself at Seungri’s place for an overnight stay, while Dami had stayed over at her own friend’s.  

That night, he was waiting in the living room for Seungri to finish up washing so that he could have his turn when Ms. Lee walked out of her room and caught his attention. She was wearing a plain white blouse under a boring brown cardigan, black slacks, and brown one-inch heels that even he knew were out-of-date.

“I’m sorry,” she said, nervous as Jiyong could tell, “I just need an opinion. How do I look?”

“Are you going to work, auntie?” Jiyong asked. As far as he knew, she was supposed to take care of them. Then again, it wasn’t like neither he nor Seungri couldn take care of themselves. He’d be more than happy to take the opportunity to prove to Seungri’s mother that he was a _good hyung_.

She shook her head. “No, not tonight. This is for tomorrow night... and for a date.” She was fidgety, Jiyong could see, and it was endearing to find out where Seungri got his cuteness from.

“It’s boring for a date,” he decided to go with honesty. “Yellow would look great on you.”

 _Yellow is a good look for Seungri_ , was what he mainly thought, _so it must also be a good look for her_.

All she did was nod and retreat back to her room.

Jiyong let go of the basketball-shaped pillow he was holding. Unlike him, Seungri didn’t have many toys. Jiyong had a bunch of them in a trunk at the bottom of his closet, but he never really played with them. Like him, Seungri wasn’t that interested in toys. Unlike him, it was because Seungri preferred to play games and make-believe. In fact, they were just about to save the universe from invading unicorn-dinosaurs when Ms. Lee announced that it was bath time.

Seungri was taking too long in the bathroom. They still needed to get to the centre of the volcano so that they could harness the molten powers of lava to defeat the alien life forms.

Ms. Lee came back out in a yellow dress cinched prettily at the waist and flared down to just above her knees. She was still wearing the same shoes and cardigan, the plainness of which complimented the subtle criss-cross patterns of the dress.

“This is the only thing I have in yellow,” she excused.

Ms. Lee was a pretty woman. She had to keep her appearance up, considering that she personally dealt with a lot of clientele and impressions mattered. Yet, she hadn’t been to a date in ages – more than eleven years, it must be. She thought herself pretty desperate to ask help from a ten-year-old boy.

Then again, something in her gut told her she could trust Jiyong.

She knew Seungri was lonely at times, especially at home when she had to leave him alone. She felt worse, though, when she was at home and she could sometimes see that Seungri was still lonely. He had friends at school, sure, but she more often than not left him there until he was the only kid left, and Seungri hadn’t actually said a proper name before Jiyong’s. They were just _friends_ , or _classmates_ , but after Jiyong, she started to hear _Henry_ , or _Seon Hee_ , or _Taehyung_ , and so many others she didn’t bother to keep track anymore.

Jiyong gave her a thumbs-up. “Very pretty, auntie.”

She smiled, because somehow, she _understood._ Jiyong just had a way of making her feel like he would never betray her.

She came closer to the child and gave him a hug. Jiyong, ever affectionate, returned it easily. “Thank you, Jiyong-ah,” she said. “But if I can make one request, please don’t tell Seunghyun. I’d like to tell him myself.”

“Okay,” he immediately guaranteed. “I promise.”

She chuckled and held him by the shoulders. “I knew I could trust you,” she remarked, every sincerely, as much as it was an affirmation to herself and a praise for the young boy in front of her.

Jiyong’s heart felt too happy it was scary.

 

 

 

Sometimes, in the night, Jiyong would hold Seungri tight. Sometimes he wouldn’t.

Sometimes, in the day, Seungri would reach for Jiyong’s hand. Sometimes he wouldn’t.

Sometimes, they’d sit together too close. Sometimes, they wouldn’t. Sometimes they’d whisper each other intimate praises. Sometimes they wouldn’t.

Sometimes Jiyong would tease Seungri so much, he’d cry.

Sometimes Seungri would annoy Jiyong so much, he’d die.

Sometimes they’d fight, sometimes they’d scream. Sometimes they’d think things no child below thirteen years of age had no place thinking.

Sometimes they’d dream of dreams too far away.

But they’d always, _always_ , be part of them together.

 

 

It remained that way up to graduation.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Seungri didn’t know how it happened, but Jiyong and he started drifting apart during middle school. Jiyong started building his mysterious, charismatic image as he opted less and less to play with Seungri and stay inside during their breaks. 

It hadn’t been that way in the beginning. When the school year started, they had been inseparable, acting like the elementary school kids that they had been. Deeper into the year, something changed. Seungri could barely place his finger on it, but he guessed it was because Jiyong started to look handsomer. 

His best friend had always looked cute, in his opinion. But Seungri, young as he was and more often than not unable to find words that correspond with his thoughts, figured that it was that Jiyong looked… better.

Their parents had noticed it enough, too. Jiyong’s mother would stop herself from cuddling her boy, gushing about how he’s looking more and more like his father by the day. Seungri’s mother would pinch his squishy cheeks, squealing how handsome he was. 

Seungri couldn’t disagree. They wore the same uniform, but he couldn’t understand how it could look _different_ on Jiyong. 

More girls flocked to Jiyong, enough for Seungri to feel something twitch in his fingers. Jiyong’s attention would drift to them, enough for him to sometimes leave with them during breaks. 

In sixth grade, when the Phys. Ed. Teachers would let them finally borrow a basketball because they were responsible enough (whatever that meant), Seungri and Jiyong began to go on games of basketball instead of their regular elementary games with some of their friends. 

The habit had crossed over to Middle School, and though Jiyong didn’t like the game as much as Seungri did, Jiyong was good. 

He had to be, when Seungri was a better player and the younger liked to bet with him on small things like doing the other’s homework or declaring that Seungri was the bestest, most handsomest genius Jiyong ever did meet in the crowded school cafeteria where almost everyone – at that point – knew who they both were. 

But there was that instance neither of them talked about again, and never forgot. 

 

 

 

 

 

It had been a bright, sunny, scorching day. It was the summer after their sixth year of elementary, weeks before Middle School. Jiyong was tapping a pencil on his notebook, fleshing out beats and rhymes in his mind to transcribe on paper. 

The aircon was on full blast on the elder’s room and Seungri watched as tears trickled down the glass of a pitcher of cold lemonade. 

Seungri – poor, restless, energy-filled Seungri – was bored out of his wit’s ends. 

He huffed and threw the blankets of Jiyong’s bed on the floor. 

"You’re cleaning that up," Jiyong calmly said, eyes trained on the frustratingly empty lines of his pad. 

"You can’t make me!" Seungri almost-spat. 

"Eomma can."

Seungri whined, long and high enough to get Jiyong’s attention. "Hyung," he pleaded, "let’s play. Please. One game. First to ten points."

Jiyong had been rejecting the boy all day. At first it was only because he wanted to see Seungri pout. But when he chanced a glance outside, all his enthusiasm flew out the window. "It’s too hot, Seungri-ah," he told him again. "Just stepping out of the room makes me sweat badly."

"Come on, Jiyongie," Seungri persuaded. "One game."

"No–"

"I’ll be your slave for a week!"

"Try harder."

"I’ll let you kiss me."

And Jiyong stopped.

Jiyong was a very affectionate kid. He took and gave love generously and frequently, which got him endeared by most older than him. In contrast, Seungri tended to shy away from it. Well, not all of it. Hugs were fine, but at some point, he found it terribly embarrassing to be kissed. His mother had lamented over it, wondering when her little boy grew up, and Seungri would just ignore her because she was rather too dramatic. 

It sucked for Jiyong that the first time he got the urge to kiss Seungri, the younger had not wanted him to. No offense to him, but Seungri wouldn’t even let his own mother kiss him, so Jiyong thought it was fine. Still, the urge wasn’t an easy to suppress.

Jiyong hadn’t exactly stopped asking. 

Seungri hadn’t stopped refusing. 

So Jiyong made it a game to tease Seungri with almost-kisses that never came to fruition. He wanted Seungri’s consent, even though, at that age, he hadn’t known what the word consent meant. 

The sun shone brightly on the side of his face and he hesitated. "On the lips," he’d said, just to make sure that he was risking exposing his precious skin to the blistering sun for a good cause. 

Seungri reeled back, stuttering and shock high and red on his cheeks. "W-w-what? On the... o-on my..."

"Lips," Jiyong smirked. He crossed his arms. He was all right with Seungri saying no. Him refusing meant that they could stay inside where it was cold and comfortable. He could wait for the kiss. 

Seungri fidgeted on his knees, having sat up in trying to persuade his hyung. His chubby fingers clenched on his shorts, bringing it up and revealing the difference in the color of Seungri’s skin. 

The boy liked to play outside too much, the upper parts of his thighs lighter than the rest. 

Jiyong disliked hanging outside. 

"F-fine," agreed Seungri, to the conflicted delight of Jiyong. "But if I win, you have to be my slave for the week." 

Jiyong rolled his eyes as he got up and turned the aircon off. A slave for a week was nothing compared to the prospect of finally finding out what it would be like to kiss Seungri’s lips. 

 

 

 

"Let’s change the rules," Jiyong demanded once more because he was sure Seungri was cheating him. Air wasn’t going into his lungs like it was supposed to and he had his hands on his knees. He was shirtless and he wanted to take his shorts off too because sweat was just everywhere. "We’ve been out here for two hours and neither of us is winning."

Seungri was faring no better. His white wife beater clung to him like second skin and Jiyong could see every inch of Seungri despite of it. "Okay," he said simply, relenting easily to his hyung. 

He straightened, wondering why Jiyong wanted the kiss so much. If it were any other day, their game would have been finished ages ago. Jiyong wanted to win; and Seungri hadn’t wanted to lose. But if Jiyong wanted to win that much, then...

"First to shoot a three-pointer wins."

Seungri pouted at that. He could barely shoot a free throw with how tired his arms felt then, let alone a three-pointer. Jiyong looked more exhausted than him, so he didn’t really get why Jiyong wanted to have a three-point shootout. 

"Are you sure, hyung?" Seungri tiredly asked, pulling the damp shirt sticking to his skin of his flat stomach. The amount of food he ate was compensated with how active he was. That said, he was restless, not tireless.

"Yep," Jiyong popped, arms already over his head in a stretch. His eyes burned with something akin to determination, while Seungri’s throat burned for the pitcher of lemonade still in Jiyong’s air-conditioned room. 

It was already watered down by then.

Seungri heaved a sigh, all competitiveness drained from his system. He never was one who played to compete; it was always about the fun. (He liked eating more, if he were honest.)

"I’ll take the first shot," announced Jiyong as he grabbed for the ball. 

Seungri barely listened, attention caught by the idea of ice in the fridge. Maybe Auntie would give him a cube to suck on. That would have been nice. 

Mindlessly, he hummed and trudged inside, quick short steps leading him to the kitchen. Auntie wasn’t there, probably in some other part of the house doing what grown-ups did. 

He welcomed himself to the Kwon refrigerator. Usually, he spent time perusing its contents whenever he had the chance, whenever Jiyong’s parents let him. Right then, however, all he wanted were ice cubes, which were dispensable by a lever he could just reach if stood on his tiptoes. He reached up carefully, short fingers slipping on the plastic of the lever, almost there. 

He gave a little jump, hitting the plastic strong enough for two cubes to drop. He caught one by his chest while the other slid on the tiled floor.  
Proud and happy, he slipped the ice between his lips, on his tongue, savoring the relief the coldness brought.

"Seungri," someone called, and the boy knew he was caught. 

The Kwons loved him. He was certain of that because they always said the words back when he told them. Dami even told him more than she told Jiyong. He was sure she made it into a game: how much she could spite Jiyong by declaring who loves him more.

Seungri didn't care. He basked in all the love, accepted it all with open arms.

(But sometimes, when Jiyong looked to be in the brink of crying, Seungri would hold his hand and say he loved him most.)

Seungri was cheeky. Seungri knew he was adorable. Seungri knew no one could resist his eyes if he opened them wide enough. 

So he made sure to when he turned. 

But Jiyong was looking at him so weirdly, the look on Seungri's face dropped. 

"Hyung," he said around a mouthful of ice. "Are you okay?"

"I did it." Jiyong simply answered, sounding not so okay. "On the first try. I made the shot."

Seungri rolled the ice on his tongue. Maybe he should have been a little more skeptical. Maybe he should have asked for a redo because he wasn't sure if Jiyong actually did make the shot. 

Instead,

"Congratulations," he smiled. "You win."

Jiyong took small steps forward, making Seungri's heart beat a tad faster. He wasn't so innocent as to not know about kisses between two people: kisses that were different from those given by parents or siblings. 

Jiyong was already too close, lining his body up to Seungri's and the younger boy's mind went haywire. 

Jiyong leaned in slow, as if the moment was as delicate as a piece of glass, easily shattered if handled without care. Seungri's tongue darted to wet his lips in anticipation. His mind blanked, wondering, contemplating, ideas fighting with each other in his head, rather unsure if this was right or wrong - 

And suddenly Jiyong's lips brushed against his.

Gentle, only with the slightest of pressures that if Seungri hadn't kept his eyes opened, he would have wondered if it was all his imagination. 

Then,

Then,

Seungri wondered if Jiyong felt the coldness of the ice on Seungri's lips because Jiyong was as cold three days after.

 

 

 

 

 

So maybe it hadn't started in middle school. It might have started weeks before, but when Jiyong talked to him again three days later, Seungri was too happy to think anything of the kiss.

Not that they talked about it.

Not like Jiyong acted like it happened at all.

Jiyong didn't try kissing him again, even if his arm never left Seungri's shoulders (or waist, or hand on the small of his back).

But Jiyong started drifting away because he refused to play basketball during recess. 

Seungri thought, well, okay, that was fine, because Jiyong still ate with him during lunch, until, as fate would have it that was also taken from him. 

It started on a Wednesday and Seungri turned to Jiyong, happiness in his throat because his mother had packed him spicy chicken that day. 

"Oh, Ri-ah," went Jiyong before Seungri could say anything. "I can't eat with you today. Nana from the other class wanted me to have lunch with her. You'll be all right, won't you?"

Jiyong didn't apologize; he didn’t even sound apologetic. He had this bright smile, though, and there was nothing the younger could do.

"No," Seungri said, the happiness dying in his throat. "Have fun, hyung."

Nana was the Japanese exchange student everyone seemed infatuated with. From what he's heard, her Korean was horrible, but she was adorable and pretty and taller than most girls. Even Seungri had been interested, the Japanese language beckoning to be learned. 

So he couldn't really blame Jiyong. Who was he to stop him either?

He figured it was fine to eat alone once in a while. Besides, it had been a while since he's been to the library, and he's missed the librarian. 

Then, Jiyong started to eat lunch with him less and less, and Seungri started to spend lunch in the library more and more. 

Mrs. Go noticed. Of course she would. She practically raised him in elementary.

"Eating alone again, dear?" she asked as soon as her boy entered the door to her sanctuary of books. Seungri had visited the library so often that some of the frequent library goers thought he was her assistant. 

"What do you mean alone?" Seungri said, cheer still in his voice. "I'm here to eat with you!"

Seungri set up his lunchbox on her table, always with the invitation to share, and the lady's heart swelled. Seungri was genuinely happy to eat with her, she knew. Yet, at the same time, she knew what longing looked like, and she could smell it on Seungri.

She took a seat across the almost-eleven-year-old. "Don't you have other friends to eat with, Seungri-ah?" 

"I have you," he reiterated, and it was answer enough for her. It wasn't that he didn't have other friends to eat with. Seungri was one of the most social children she knew. Seungri was staying where it was routine, where it was familiar.

Seungri was staying where Jiyong could find him if he wanted to be found. 

So Seungri developed a routine. He played basketball with his other friends during the break, and he went to the library of the elementary department during lunch. He took classes with Jiyong, and went home with him afterwards. 

Always, Seungri was tempted to ask Jiyong where he went during the first break, what he did during those times. Never did he ask, though. 

But in the middle of their first year in Middle School, even that was threatened to be taken from him. 

He was putting his books in his locker, bag already hung on his shoulder, ready to go home with his hyung as the elder was doing the same down the hall. Just as he clicked the door to his locker shut, he heard Nana's voice. 

He wasn't friends with her. He never talked to her apart from the rare greetings he had to whenever Jiyong was around. Nevertheless, he could never mistake her voice, high-pitched and girly that it always made him want to walk away. 

"I heard you had a pass to go home by yourself," he heard her ask Jiyong. "Want to go home together?"

Seungri's feet started moving on their own accord before he thought of it. He knew where this was heading; it was obvious considering how his hyung was unable to say no to the foreign girl.  
So he walked away, not wanting to hear Jiyong choosing someone else over him again. 

Yet, he didn't want to go home yet. His mother was away again, and they were supposed to head to Jiyong's and while he had keys, he didn't want to go home to an empty house. 

So he found himself on the playground he hasn't visited for almost a year, empty and reminding him so much of a time when his only companion after dismissal was books. 

It looked smaller from what he's remembered, but not less lonely. Probably more. Fortunately, the open space was far better than the closed taunting walls of his house. 

He sat down on the swings, perfectly sure that it were the same one he was sitting on when he met Jiyong. 

And before he could help it, his tears were falling. Sobs choked him from the center of his chest to the middle of his throat, suffocating and making him want to puke. 

His mother wasn't home again. His mother was on a date again, and he hated it. She was already rarely home because of work. Seungri just wanted her back. Seungri just wanted to come home to her more than twice a week. Seungri didn't want someone taking his mother away from him, not when she was barely there to begin with. He missed her, even when she was home, he missed her. 

His heart longed, wished, and missed. He tried keeping it in, he tried being happy for her. He tried so hard not to feel neglected because at least she left him with someone she could trust.

She left him with Jiyong, but Jiyong was drifting away too. Jiyong didn't play with him anymore. Jiyong didn't hang out in school with him anymore. Jiyong didn't take his hand to hold anymore and -

A pair of skinny arms encircled his neck and brought his face to a chest.

"Hush now,” a low and gentle voice cooed. “It's okay, don't cry," he was told. And Seungri had wanted it to be someone else. Seungri had wanted what seemed like a miracle then. Seungri wanted it so much to be Kwon Jiyong.

It wasn't.

His sobs stopped instantly, replaced by a curiosity he seemed to have a lot of. 

"I'm sorry," said Seungri, wiping the tears off his face and gently pushing the stranger away. "I'm sorry, I don't know who you are."

"Minho," the boy introduced, holding his hand out for Seungri to shake. "Choi Minho."

Seungri felt like he's heard the name before. He let out a few hiccups as he thought. But before he could ask a question, his name was called. 

The boy named Minho turned, giving Seungri a clear view of the hyung he wanted to be there instead. 

Dominating in his stance, authoritative in his voice, "Seungri," he called again. "Let's go home."

The younger felt frozen, rather shocked that Jiyong was actually there in front of him. Mouth bitten, he was breathless, both from the crying and the disbelief. 

"Hurry up, Seungri," Jiyong pressed and Seungri moved, knowing the tone of Jiyong's voice when he was pissed. He gave the taller boy a quick bow as a goodbye and hurried after his hyung, not wanting to disobey. 

He kept his head turned down low, eyes to the ground, hands tight around the straps of his bag. He felt Jiyong hook an arm around his shoulders, but from the corners of his eyes, he saw Jiyong give Minho a glare and a scoff. 

Seungri didn't know what to do.

 

 

The walk home had been heavy with silence. Seungri was at a loss and he was itching to run away. Jiyong had let go of his neck as soon as they were out of the school gates. When their hands brushed, Jiyong retreated by shoving his down his pant pockets. It made Seungri painfully aware of the fact that they didn't hold hands anymore. 

It was suffocating. 

"Who was he, Seungri?" Jiyong demanded, out of the blue. He looked straight ahead, but he didn't have to face Seungri to make the younger squirm.

"M-minho," Seungri supplied timidly. "He said his name was Minho."

"Are the two of you close?"

"No, I just m-met him in the playground awhile ago."

"Did he make you cry?"

 _You did_ , Seungri almost said, but that wasn't the exact truth.

"N-no," he said instead. 

"Then, why?" Jiyong asked, voice turning softer. 

Seungri shook his head and glued his sight back to his feet. His knees trembled imperceptibly. The back of his eyes burned with the pain of the tears he still hasn’t shed.

“Is it because of me?” the twelve-year-old asked.

Seungri gave another shake of his head, but Jiyong knew a lie when he saw it, when it came from his boy. Seungri has never hidden something from him so blatantly before. The younger was open and honest and always ready to share his thoughts and knowledge.

Seungri sniffed and Jiyong’s feet made a pivot. He turned towards the other so quickly, Seungri hadn’t the time to react, but Jiyong was ready. He had his arms open and chest yielding to the impact of Seungri’s forlorn force.

They fit like puzzle pieces, such that in even in their unprepared stances, Seungri’s nose pressed enticingly to the crook of Jiyong’s neck, and Jiyong’s arms wound around the younger’s waist as if they were made that way.

Tears fell from the panda boy’s eyes unwillingly. Lost and confused, Seungri choked and broke down after months of silent endurance.

“I just want her back,” Seungri cried, letting out all the longing, the wishing, and the missing. “I don’t want her to leave me, hyung. She’s leaving me. I want eomma home.”

Jiyong held his boy tighter, praying to be the comfort the younger needed. In a bout of wisdom beyond his years, Jiyong whispered, gentle enough for the fragile and prone boy in his arms, “You have to let her be with someone, Ri-ah.”

“She should be with me!” yelled Seungri.

“She is with you,” explained Jiyong. “But in a different way.”

Jiyong could feel Seungri shake horribly, out of frustration and anger and depression. “What about me, then?!” was the hostile cry of Seungri. “What about me?!”

Jiyong kissed him. Innocent, it was pressed in the middle of his brows, making Seungri hiccup in surprise. The sobs caught in his lungs.

“I’ll be with you,” Jiyong smiled, soft and welcoming, and almost too good to be true.

Seungri wanted to forgive him. He wanted to believe Jiyong and stop accusing him of already breaking that promise before he even made it. He yearned to yell at Jiyong that they weren’t spending enough time anymore, that he didn’t care about him anymore, that there were more important things than the little boy he met at the playground reading a Japanese comic book he couldn’t even understand, and make the elder apologize and make up for it.

But Seungri, most of all, wanted to believe that Jiyong would always be with him, so that’s what he did.

He sniffed and sucked it up and let the accusations and insecurities die and live within him, without seeing the light of that day, without voicing the troubles out to Jiyong.

So he brought his arms up, around his hyung’s neck to get him impossibly closer, as close as he had wanted to ever since he felt him drifting away, as if that would stop him from slipping from his arms and his life. Croaky and utterly pitiful, he uttered a want for a promise. “Promise me, hyung,” he repeated, only to get the point across of what he desperately needed. “Stay with me.”

 

 

 

“I promise.”

 

 

 

Later that night, when both boys were lying on Jiyong’s bed after they asked their parents if Seungri could stay the night, and without telling them that it was mainly because Seungri didn’t want to go home, Jiyong turned to him with a bright smile on his face.

“Guess what?” he said excitedly, holding Seungri’s hand under the thick covers. “Eomma said she’d take me to audition at SM after middle school!”

Seungri’s eyes widened comically, candidly happy. “Really?”

Jiyong hummed. “It’s so exciting,” Jiyong confessed. “I need to start training from now, too, but that’s okay right?”

“Of course it is,” Seungri giggled. “You have to do your best.”

Jiyong wiggled closer, seeking the other’s warmth and wanting to feel the laughter that vibrated through his body. “I know. That’s why I joined this dance group. We practice every other day after school.”

Seungri’s heart broke. In the dark light of the room, his breath caught and his lips gaped. He wondered if a promise was already broken, but he wanted to believe.

He wanted to believe in Jiyong most of all.

“That’s awesome, hyung,” he croaked, both the painful truth and sickly lie.

Jiyong draped his arm around Seungri’s stomach and pulled him towards his chest, cradled in his security as they’d gotten used to do. “I know,” the elder sighed, happy, sleepy, and unaware of the storm that brewed in the pit of the younger’s heart. “I’m going to become an idol, Riri. I’m going to do my best.”

And Seungri relaxed. With the feel of Jiyong behind him, with his scent bringing him unexplainable comfort, Seungri figured it must be all right, that everything would turn out to be just fine.

 

It should be.

 

It must be.

 

Even if Jiyong drifted far from him, they’d still be connected in their dreams, and maybe that would be enough.


	8. Chapter 8

Kwon Jiyong was getting insanely irritated by this boy called Choi Minho.

He was going _insane_ with his _irritation_ , and he hadn’t exactly known how to deal with it since Seungri seemed to like the other boy too much. Jiyong didn’t want to believe that to be true.

Choi Minho had been bothering Seungri and the younger was just too much of an angel to tell the taller boy off. The taller boy recently developed a habit of coming into their classroom unannounced and uninvited with one goal in mind.

Main point was: Jiyong just couldn’t get why Minho had to go to their classroom just so that he could fetch Seungri for their game of basketball together, and not just head straight to the court like all the other students do.

From what his lunch table posse had told him, Minho was in the same year as he and Seungri, from a different class. Apparently, he was even the same age as the younger. Homeschooled until that year, he was qualified to enter Jiyong’s year despite his younger age. The girls, even Nana, gushed about him like he was something. _He’s so cute_ , they would say. _Really handsome_ , they’d wistfully contemplate.

Honestly, Jiyong thought his eyes were too big for his skinny face, skin too dark from playing outside too much.

Of course Seungri’s skin was different. Seungri’s was more of a light golden-brown, kissed by the Sun God and given life by the moonlight.

Minho’s skin was the colour of poop.

He told Seungri that and the younger got so mad he refused ta talk with him for the rest of the day.

This irked Jiyong more because Seungri has never defended someone _from_ him. Seungri was supposed to be on his side. Seungri had always been on his side. Minho was nobody to come in between them like that.

So really, Jiyong couldn’t help the infuriation when Minho, without shame, bounced into their classroom during lunch time and plopped his lunchbox on Seungri’s table.

It hasn’t even been a month since Seungri and Minho met. Three weeks at most, and Jiyong was already getting so annoyed because Seungri wouldn’t shut up about him.

“I don’t know why Minho’s so tall,” Seungri was telling just as the bell for lunch rang. “It’s really unfair; he doesn’t have to jump for the ball while I have to jump extra hard. I’m lucky he insists that we always be on the same team.”

“Gee, Seungri. That’s interesting. Tell me more.” Jiyong had picked up the habit of replying with sarcasm ever since he’d hung out with Sonwoo, Nana, and the others. Seungri failed to recognize it.

“Minho has pretty eyes, though,” Seungri ploughed on, making Jiyong grit his teeth. “They’re big and his lashes are long. I looked into them the other day, but he says mine were prettier. Like a puppy’s!”

Jiyong growled. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t actually know how to. The sound just came from his gut involuntarily – instinctively.

He was about to walk out when Minho came bouncing in, disregarding the few weird looks every one of their classmates threw at him. It even irked Jiyong that his classmates were getting used to Minho as well. A bunch of deserters, he thought of them as.

“Seunghyunnie! Seunghyunnie!” boomed the tall boy. “Lunch together with Seunghyunnie!”

Minho unceremoniously plopped himself down on the empty seat in front of Seungri and faced the panda – not puppy – with his lunchbox offered to share.

Jiyong glared at him and Seungri must have noticed.

“Ah, hyung! This is Minho,” Seungri introduced, totally misreading the look Jiyong was giving as he grabbed his lunchbox out of his pack. “I don’t think you guys have formally met.”

It was the first time that Minho had come over during lunch. He had come over during their previous break, and Jiyong usually never failed to acknowledge the other boy’s existence. Therefore, yes, despite Choi Minho’s insistence to come and visit his dongsaeng everyday, they have never formally met.

Minho gave him a bright smile that showed off his perfectly lined teeth. Jiyong unconsciously licked his own.

“This is Jiyongie-hyung,” Seungri told Minho.

“Hello –” Minho was about to say, when Jiyong cut him off.

“What are you doing here?” rudely asked the eldest among the three.

“I’m here to have lunch with Hyunnie,” replied Minho with the easiest, widest, sincerest smile directed at Seungri.

Seungri smiled just as easily, widely, and sincerely.

It made Jiyong’s blood boil.

“Well, you can’t,” came Jiyong’s reply.

Minho’s attention was drawn to Jiyong again. “Why not?”

“Because I’m older and I said so.”

“But you don’t control Hyunnie.”

“But it’s my table and I don’t want you using it!”

“It’s Hyunnie’s table too and we’re eating on his side anyway.”

“I don’t care; it’s still my table.”

Minho’s nostrils flared in annoyance. “Fine,” he cried, pulling Seungri’s arm to make him stand with him. “We’ll eat elsewhere.”

Jiyong pulled at Seungri’s other arm. “No, he’s not,” he insisted. “He’s eating lunch with me!”

Seungri wanted to say yes. Seungri was so tempted to say yes. In that second-long instant, Seungri was ready to apologize to Minho, promise him a compromise or a _next time_ , and leave him for Jiyong.

But Nana chose that time to poke her pretty little head in the classroom to look for Jiyong.

“Jiyongie!” was all she said for Jiyong to let go of Seungri’s arm. “Let’s go to lunch, Yongie. I’m hungry.”

Seungri’s face fell. Minho’s eyes dimmed.

“Apparently not,” remarked the tallest boy, and Jiyong snapped back to attention.

“N-no,” Jiyong said, hesitance heavy in his tone. “I… Seungri could eat with us!”

“Seungri wouldn’t like that, though,” remarked Minho.

“Of course he would!”

“Okay,” gave Minho. Then he tipped his head towards the pretty Japanese girl waiting by the door. “They might not like that, then.”

“Of course they w–” and the sentence was murdered by Jiyong’s hesitance.

Seungri tried to save him.

With his and Minho’s lunchboxes in one hand, and the other taking Minho’s, Seungri moved away. “Its okay, hyung,” placated Seungri, voice betraying nothing of the storm inside his mind. “I’ll go eat with Minho.”

By the time Jiyong recovered from the shock, Seungri was out the door, making the choice for the both of them, with Minho giving him a smirk and a scoff over his shoulder.

 

 

 

_“Come, Minho. I’ll introduce you to Mrs. Go.”_

 

 

 

Jiyong was unable to stomach anything that day. It burned him to think that Seungri chose Minho over him.

Apparently, Nana was just as curious.

“Hey, Yongie,” she tapped on his elbow. Her pretty pink chopsticks poked at the eggrolls her mother had packed for her. “Why was Minho-ssi in your room?”

Jiyong, head in his hands, eyed at her. “You know him?”

She nodded. “Hm, yeah. We’re classmates, remember?”

Jiyong tsk’ed. He was too lost in thought again. He rolled his eyes in aggravation. “He wanted to have lunch with Seungri.”

Sonwoo, who was in the same class as Nana, looked up in surprise. “Who?” he pouted. The two other in their group watched on curiously.

“Seungri,” sighed Jiyong. “My seatmate?”

Nana hummed and licked at her chopsticks. “He never came to have lunch with us,” she said contemplatively around her pink utensils. “I asked but he always refused.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t like your face,” snickered Hyukjae, a boy from a different class.

Taeyeon, Hyukjae’s classmate, pouted at the insinuation. "That can’t be," she said, "Nana’s pretty."

The Japanese girl beamed, knowing it to be true.

"Aren’t you guys supposed to be friends?" interrupted Jiyong before a fight could escalate.

"Why are we supposed to be?" Nana asked a little haughtily. She stole a chicken nugget from his barely touched lunchbox.

Jiyong shrugged. "Because you’re classmates? Everyone in our class are friends."

Jiyong especially knew this to be true. An incident that led to Seungri yelling that every single one of his classmates were his friend. It then led to their class calling each other more with ‘my friend’ instead of their actual names. Their teachers find it endearing.

Nose high, Nana shook her head. "Not in ours. Minho doesn’t even talk to us when we try."

Jiyong hummed. Minho must be disrespectful or something to ignore Nana like that. He was trouble, Jiyong was sure. The tall kid was a bad example.

"Maybe I should start inviting Seungri to our table for lunch," he thought loudly.

A dual gasp from the girls erupted. "You can’t," Taeyeon cried.

"You can’t, Yongie," Nana echoed.

Jiyong’s eyes widened. He slid his hands between his thighs, underneath the table. "Why not?" he asked, brow crinkled in curiosity.

"We don’t want him to join the group," was Taeyeon’s childish reason.

"He’s not cute enough," Nana supplied, stealing kimchi from Sonwoo’s lunchbox.

"He looks like a zombie," snickered Eunhyuk, subtly sliding his plate of food away from the Japanese beauty.

The rest of the table nodded in agreement.

“No, he’s not,” Jiyong protested, offended for his friend’s sake. “He’s cute like a panda!”

He belatedly realized that he’d pounded his fist on the table when all four pair of eyes honed on it. He blushed.

Nana giggled. “No, you’re the one who’s cute, Jiyongie.” Then, she shrugged. “But if he’s cute to you, then he is. I just don’t want to hang with him. All he does is run around and scream.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Jiyong gasped.

Taeyeon shrugged. “Not much. We’re just more sophistipated than that.”

Eunhyuk flicked her on the forehead. “It’s _sophisticated_ , stupid,” he said. “Say it right.”

The girl hit his arm. “Whatever. It’s still what it is.”

That confused Jiyong a little but he thought it best to leave it alone.

 

 

 

 

 

Jiyong wasn’t really a violent child, but when Seungri one day refused to go home with him because he had basketball tryouts with Choi Minho, he wanted to pinch the taller boy’s nose until it bled.

"You get to have dance practice," Minho tried reasoning with him. "Why can’t Seungri try out for the basketball team with me?"

Jiyong ignored him, like he was wont to do whenever Minho talked. Jiyong thought everything that came out of his mouth was pure rubbish, except when he praised Seungri, which he did often, much to Jiyong’s chagrin.

Jiyong pulled at Seungri’s arm to lead him away from the bad influence that was the Choi boy. Minho let out a huff of disbelief. Jiyong thought he had absolutely no reason to.

Jiyong was the hyung.

Jiyong was the best friend.

Jiyong was the one who was supposed to be with Seungri in the first place.

Jiyong was not able to get too far.

Seungri pulled back his hand. Jiyong turned around harshly.

"We’re going home, Seungri!" he harshly commanded, voice leaving no room for negotitation.

He has had it. Choi Minho had no right to take Seungri away from him. Jiyong had spent the better half of the week busting his butt in dance practice. Because of that, he only got to hang out with Seungri every Tuesdays and Thursdays and the rare Saturdays they spend the whole day together. They were drifting apart and Jiyong didn’t like it one bit. It was all Choi Minho’s fault.

Choi Minho was ugly.

Choi Minho was stupid.

Choi Minho had no business hanging with Seungri in the first place because he was weird and had no friends in his own class, and must be out of his damn mind to ignore and refuse Nana and Soohyuk.

Jiyong yelled as such, eyes on the skies as he let his anger out. He wanted his boy to know how frustrated he was, how unreasonable he was to let Minho be his friend.

Yet when he looked up, a more terrible storm built up in Seungri’s.

Jiyong never thought that the boy’s cute adorable eyes could look so menacing, the darkness surrounding them fearsome, lips pulled in startling snarl.

Seungri jabbed a finger in his chest.

"If anyone is to blame for us drifting apart," Seungri started off low and powerful. He was ten years old. He wasn’t supposed to possess that sort of charisma. "It’s you. It’s all you, hyung. Your fault. You’re the one who stopped playing with me during recess. You’re the one who started to leave me during lunch time. You’re the one who left me alone!"

Seungri was seething, breathing hard and vicious. Jiyong was shocked. His heart started thumping in a weird way, making him both want to cry and laugh because Seungri was unfairly scary and beautiful at the same time.   
  
Seungri trembled. "Minho is my friend," the younger stated, piercing something painful in Jiyong’s heart. "He was my friend when you weren’t. I’m going to the tryouts because I like basketball. It’s only fair."

Seungri snatched his bag from Jiyong’s grip. Jiyong still had the habit of bringing the other’s bag for him. The elder was still too stunned to loosen his grip. Out of anger, Seungri used too much force, pushing Jiyong to the ground as he pried his bag away.

Seungri looked conflicted but forewent the apology. He beckoned Minho over.

"Also," the younger venomously added, "you’ve become mean, hyung. Watch out who you hang out with."

Seungri left with Minho in tow. For once, the taller didn’t give him a smug look.

It was more akin to pity.

 

 

 

Jiyong came home confused and irate.He barged through the front door, stomped to his room, and slammed his door shut.

His mom had yelled at him, demanding what his problem was, but she was making nothing better. So he yelled back at her, screamed at the top of his lungs to make her leave him alone. He needed to be alone.

He threw his bag to the wall and dropped on the bed, thrashing and throwing his limbs about.

How dare Seungri refuse him. How dare Seungri choose Minho over him. How dare Seungri walk away while he was on the floor and not turn back.

_How dare he._

Tears slipped from his eyes and suddenly, he’s enveloped by an intense feeling, something he hasn’t quite felt before. He buried his head on his pillows, unable to stop neither the tears nor his lungs from heaving in sobs.

He felt drained. He felt so weak. He wanted everything to disappear and the light streaming from the window was mocking him.

He couldn’t breathe. He felt drowned. He felt overcrowded in his own empty room and he was just utterly confused and hurt and angry and _betrayed._

 _How dare Seungri_.

 

 

 

But the next thing he knew, it was dark.

 

 

 

And his father was sitting on his bed, shaking him awake. “It’s time for dinner,” he said. At least, that’s what Jiyong thought he said. He was too groggy to be sure.

Light filtered in through the opened door, which he noticed had been chipped. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “What happened?” he asked, instead. “Is my door broken?”

His father chuckled. Jiyong’s mother had panicked. Jiyong had never come home in such a state before, and when the child locked the door and refused to talk to her, she almost went crazy.

Her panic made her husband panic, so he hightailed home. When Jiyong refused to respond to him, his wife was already bawling and he resolved to break the door open. He found Jiyong lying unmoving on the bed and felt his heart stop.

Luckily, he had the sense to check for a pulse. Jiyong, apparently, had just slept through everything, and that eased their worry a smudge. They let him have his rest, decided to talk to him after.

“Yes,” the man simply answered.

Jiyong took it and lay back down. “I’m not hungry,” he whispered, turning to his side.

His father sighed. Jiyong felt his hand rub at his back. “What’s wrong, Ji?” he ventured warily.

“Nothing, appa,” came the predictable answer.

“Did you and Seunghyun fight?”

There was a long pause. “How did you know?”

His father’s pause was equally as long. “Wild guess.”

The child sighed and sat back up. He leaned into his father’s embrace, pushing into his chest. “I don’t get it,” he whined. “Seungri and I were supposed to go home together today! But he went with Minho so that they could tryout for basketball!”

The man looked at his son curiously. “That’s good, isn’t it? Seunghyun has always liked playing basketball.”

“Yeah,” Jiyong squirmed, “but we barely hang out anymore and I have a friend in the basketball varsity who said they had practice every Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturday mornings. We’ll never go home together again if he joins!”

Jiyong’s father wanted to laugh.

“Plus,” continued the boy, “he’s going with Minho!”

“Who’s Minho?”

“No one,” scoffed Jiyong.

“Then what’s wrong with him going with Seungri?”

Jiyong scoffed again. “What’s not wrong with him? He’s ugly and stupid and weird and–”

“Hey now,” interrupted his father, poking him on the side. “We didn’t raise you to be mean to people.”

“But–”

“Jiyong.”

“Ugh, fine.” Jiyong crossed his arms, but remained in the embrace. “Minho’s not stupid or weird. But he is ugly.”

“Ji–”

“Oh, all right. He isn’t ugly either, but he did take Seungri away and I hate him.”

Jiyong’s father sighed. Of course that was the problem. He rolled his eyes. “Jiyong, no one can take Seunghyun away from you. That boy is practically attached to your hip. Are you sure you didn’t do anything wrong?”

Jiyong was offended. He glared at the man and the latter put his hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying,” he tried to amend, “I haven’t been seeing Seunghyun around much anymore, and you’ve been talking about him rarely. Think you might be neglecting him a little, champ?”

“No,” Jiyong answered petulantly.

“You refused to take his call the other day because some other boy named Eunhyuk was supposed to call you.”

“It was one time and that doesn’t mean I’ve been neglecting Seungri!”

The man took his child by the elbows, looked him in the eye, and breathed. His child was twelve. He shouldn’t be having this talk with a twelve-year-old boy who’s supposed to be troubled with running around and school and whatever else... not _this_. If anything, this was more his wife’s department.

“Look, son,” he went, unsure of the words on the tip of his tongue. “Maybe you didn’t mean to neglect Seunghyun, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t feel neglected. Sometimes we hurt others without meaning to, and that’s fine.” He paused. He might be wrong, but he didn’t know what else to say. “I understand that you’re busy, and that you’re trying to fit Seunghyun into your life, but he’s got one too. He can’t be the only one who adjusts to you. You have to consider him. You might not mean to neglect him. It might not be your fault that you’re busy. But if you want to spend time with him, you have to consider him, understand?”

Now Jiyong was a good kid, never really outgrew being a good child to his parents. He listened, and he did so sincerely and intently because family was important, and his father was a lawyer, so he couldn’t be _too_ wrong. So, really, he understood what his father was telling him – never mind the fact that the man was just spurting out the bullshit that came to his head. Jiyong _understood_.

Deep down, he probably has always understood. Not in the conscious-subconscious way they amde out in all the storybooks he’s read, no. Jiyong understood in the way that he was only able to because he _wanted_ to. He wanted Seungri back and he has celebrated with his father enough to know that he wins his cases, so he shut up, swallowed his pride, and was a good child.

“What do I do then?” he squeaked, lost, confused, and unsure. Tears were prickling at the back of his eyes again.

His father gave him a wink. “You just fix things with Seungri. You leave the rest up to me.”

 

 

 

The next day, Jiyong learned just how nerve-wracking apologizing could be. But if he could fix whatever it was that was broken between him and Seungri, then a few nerves was nothing. In hindsight, he was sure he failed to grasp the gravity of the situation, that if he hadn’t apologized and just let them drift apart, Seungri would have truly gotten away from him. Thankfully, he was a smart twelve-year-old.

(Or a stubborn one, he has always ignored the difference.)

Last night, as soon as his father was able to coax him down for dinner, the man had told everything to his mother with the excuse that secrets are never kept from wives. Dami had snorted at him and his mother squealed at the sweetness of it all. She packed a small piece of cake that she had just baked, and claimed that it was the most perfect apology, as wonderful as Seunghyun.

Jiyong rolled his eyes. He knew she was reserving the cake just for the panda boy if the icing shaped into the letter S was any indication.

He was glad that his parents were helping him; they were just embarrassing at times.

He was sitting by the steps, close to the school gates. He knew how erratic Seungri was in the morning. Sometimes he was so early he got there before the janitors. One time he was so late, he missed recess. Jiyong was secretly hoping it was one of days when Seungri would actually arrive on time.

It wasn’t.

The bell rang, and Jiyong thought he had to go. Heaviness settled in his heart. He didn’t want to spend the first periods awkwardly sitting beside Seungri, unable to interact with him that way he was used to – the way he wanted to. He was starting to head to class hen he suddenly heard Seungri’s unmistakeable voice.

“Wait! Wait! I’m not late!”

Seungri zoomed past the entrance gates and the guard let him with a roll of her eyes. She was used to Seungri. He’d even tried to bribe her with a piece of chocolate just so that he’d be spared from another trip to the principal’s before.

Jiyong stood motionless, nerves suddenly getting the best of him. His mouth felt dry and his heart was seized by the actual sight of Seungri. All the words that he’d practiced flew from his head and Seungri hadn’t even seen him yet.

The younger inevitably did. And he seemed to be caught frozen as Jiyong.

His eyes shied away, hands visibly tightening on the straps of his backpack. Seungri shuffled on his feet. He pursed and lips and breathed, as if wanting to say something but thought better of it.

The wind blew, swaying Seungri’s hair over his eyes, casting intricate shadows over them, and Jiyong was reminded of the day they met, of how weak his heart had been beating compared to now.

Jiyong wondered if his heart would stop beating louder because of this boy, if it was normal to hear its beats in his ears and make their way into his songs more than anything. Jiyong thought back to that one afternoon when he made that three-point shot and found Seungri nowhere when he looked back. He remembered the strange sensation of coldness and warmth of his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he surprised himself saying, soft but genuine, and rolling off naturally as if he would always be ready to be the one to apologize to Seungri. “I’ll try better.”

Seungri stared at him, an unreadable expression displayed on his features. Jiyong tried not to shake in fear. Maybe he should have said more, but he had faith that Seungri and he understood each other even in saying less.

Seungri’s eyes travelled from his down to his chest, along his shoulders and over to his hands.

“Is that for me?” he asked, pertaining to the small cake box he was holding.

It was. But if it wasn’t, Jiyong would still have given it to him. He tipped his head in affirmation.

“Can I eat it with Minho?”

Jiyong pursed his lips. He didn’t want Seungri to. Still, he had to be considerate of Seungri. If Minho was Seungri’s friend, then he had to tolerate that, much like how Seungri tolerated his _friends_.

He tipped his head in resigned affirmation.

They didn’t move. The box was still with Jiyong and it felt like his heart was in Seungri’s mercy.

“Do you want to come over this Saturday?” Seungri finally asked, a small shy smile gracing his pretty pink lips.

Jiyong, without hesitation, answered with a blinding grin.

He tipped his head in eager affirmation.

 

 

 

They were going to be all right.


	9. Chapter 9

To say that everything went back to normal after that wasn’t, in any way, correct. Seungri passed the tryouts and had practice with Minho three times a week after class. When they found out, Jiyong’s father had his son’s dance classes moved from every Monday, Tuesday, and Friday, to Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturday mornings. At least then, although they didn’t have control over Seungri’s training schedule, they were able to mold Jiyong’s.

_Compromise_ , his father had said.

Nevertheless, it wasn’t like they started having lunch together again. Jiyong still hung out with Nana and the others; Seungri still had Minho, and their growing group of teammates.

Seungri promised Jiyong that he’d stop playing basketball during the first break if it meant that Jiyong would spend it with him again. The younger even promised to tell Minho that they couldn’t spend the break with them if Jiyong didn’t really want him to.

_Compromise_ , Seungri had said.

But Minho was Seungri’s friend. The closest one after Jiyong, apparently, and the elder couldn’t take that away from him. So he gave in and figured that the Choi boy couldn’t be all that bad if Seungri liked him. Jiyong was fine with Minho hanging with them so long as Jiyong was still the only one who could call him Seungri.

_Compromise_ , Jiyong had said.

Minho, on the bright side, was courteous enough to spend effort in sitting beside Jiyong or engage him in conversation whenever he can. Jiyong decided it was only customary to return Minho’s insistence to befriend him, if only for Seungri’s sake. Seungri looked like he couldn’t be happier, and Minho sometimes allowed them moments alone together, so long as Jiyong didn’t hurt Seungri.

_Compromise_ , Minho had said.

To which both Jiyong and Seungri failed to understand. They both knew Jiyong was incapable of deliberately hurting the panda boy.

Point was, it wasn’t the same, but it wasn’t like they could do anything about it. Jiyong and Seungri had other responsibilities, those that didn’t involve each other. Somehow, they found a way around it, and all was relatively well.

So when they entered their second year of middle school, unfortunately no longer classmates, they had a routine in place.

Not that Seungri was too happy about it, but he thought that it couldn’t be helped. No matter how much Seungri wanted to hang out with Jiyong more, he was happy he met Minho. The taller was a friend as true as they came.

 

 

 

It was around late October when Seungri realized he became a little more wanting for Jiyong. They were better, definitely, but it was also not enough. They’d just spent the previous break alone together, hanging in the elementary school library like they used to, never mind that the seats and tables were almost too small for them already. He knew he shouldn’t.

Still, "I miss Yongie," he thought out loud.

It took Minho literally snapping his fingers in front of Seungri’s face to make the shorter snap out of it. The panda boy blinked owlishly.

"That’s the third time you’ve said that," Minho informed. He pointed to the barely touched container food in front of Seungri. "If you’re not eating that, I will."

Seungri pushed his trusty panda lunchbox over.

Lee Seonha was great at her job. So much so that she must have been her boss’ favorite, considering the amount of work hours she put in and the money she earned. At least, that’s what Seungri thought. She had to be, she barely got home by ten o’clock everyday. Nevertheless, His mother may be busier with work more than ever, but she still tried her best to make him lunch. But if she couldn’t, Seungri made it himself.

Cooking, he discovered, was calming.

Minho poked him on the forehead with his chopsticks. "Will you stop staring? You look like a lovesick puppy. It’s disgusting."

"You’re disgusting," Seungri scowled, wiping the greasy substance left on his skin.

Minho hummed and kept the food for himself. He knew Seungri wouldn’t mind. The shorter probably had a cookie or something stashed somewhere. They didn’t have training that day anyway. "You’re going home with him later, Hyunnie. Stop wallowing."

The other child harrumphed, actually puffed his cheeks out and pouted in frustration. "I miss my hyung," he whined.

God, Seunghyun was unbearable when he was like this. Minho rolled his eyes.

"Then go over," said he who has had it. "He’ll probably love the idea that you miss him already."

Seungri gasped, scandalized. "I can’t do that!"

Seungri’s eyes widened, looking more like a puppy’s rather than a panda’s. Jiyong was wrong.

Minho’s big pretty eyes went bigger. "Why not?" he demanded.

Just then, another kid sat on their table, beside Minho. He snatched a piece of fried pork from Seungri’s box. Minho pushed him away, but the other grinned in victory as he popped the meat in his mouth.

"Asshole," called Minho.

"Bitch," countered the other back.

Seungri sighed.

Song Mino was a student from their year, from a different class. Sure, there were only three classes in their grade, but it was cool that the only three sophomores who got into the team came from all the classes. Their other eleven teammates came from the third year, and one was a first year.

Mino was a vulgar kid who wasn’t afraid to spew out curses in a voice as loud as Seungri. He was a bully and destructive as kids got, but Minho and Seungri were able to keep him in check.

(Albeit barely, because they were still rowdy little children who were too curios for their own good.

Seungri would introduce the problem: _‘Does the school’s fire sprinkler system actually work?’_

Mino would head the experiment: _‘We could find out. I could probably bring matches to school tomorrow.’_

Minho would draw the conclusion: _‘We should do it after class, when no one would be around to catch us.’_

Mino would usually complain, asking where the fun in that was, but he gave in.

Compromise, he had taken.)

Choi Minho and Song Mino.

Both tall, both dark, both handsome, and both had promising futures in the realm of basketball. Mino’s father had been a national player back in his day. Although Minho’s father was a soccer coach, his mom played backed in college, and she sold him on the game.

Minho and Mino, these two boys were being trained to become vicious under the ring, a pair of big men planned to connect in a dangerously lethal way.

Universities would fight over them in the future, along with Seungri who would create a system with the two of them, built on some high form of connection made special with a bond strengthened by years of friendship. But that was still years to come.

Right then, they were still middle school kids who fumbled with the ball as well with their English words.

Seungri continued staring back at Jiyong. He sighed.

"What’s wrong with him?" mumbled Mino.

Minho slid Seungri’s food away from the other guy. "He’s missing Jiyong."

“Again?” Mino laughed and cooed. "He loves you too, Hyun." He made obnoxious kissy faces at the forlorn boy. “Stop worrying.”

Seungri pouted at him. "If you’re going to be mean, I’m banning away your food privileges."

Mino shut his mouth. Minho laughed, lifting the container away from him. "Serves you right."

A sneaky hand snatched another piece before Minho could do anything about it. A cute, pretty boy sat on his other side. "Seriously, though, Seunghyun," he asked, “how could you cook as well as my mom?"

"That’s because I don’t have a mom half the time," the boy bitterly spat.

The newcomer offered him a box of chocolate milk, to which Seungri lit up and accepted.

Lee Sungmin, his name was. A third year with a body already developed because of all the athletic clubs he was part of. He was even a pro at nunchucks, to Seungri’s amazement. He was one of their best players, a boy with an aim almost-always perfect. He would change high schools next year and lose contact with the boys, but would meet them again in university.

Sungmin rubbed under Seungri’s chin. "Cute," he said. "Someone would kidnap you one day. You’re too easy to bribe with sweets."

Minho scoffed. "Really?" he uttered under his breath. "You mean all I needed to make you stop whining was give you chocolate milk?"

Seungri plunged the straw through foil. "Stop complaining, Minho-yah," he warned, "I give you food, you let me whine. That’s how our friendship works."

"Ah, what a fragile thing brotherhood is," Mino commented, picking at Seungri’s food with his bare hands.

Minho startled. He pushed Mino’s face away as he tried to snatch the container back. He had no idea how Mino got his grubby hands on it when he had just been holding on to it a while ago. Seungri must have distracted him again.

"Mine, Mino!" he cried.

"You snoozed, loser!" the other cried back.

"Boys, boys," the eldest boy tried to pacify.

Seungri sighed and gave up. He liked his teammates. They were fun. He was probably as rowdy as the rest of them, but he just wasn’t feeling up to it.

He missed Jiyong, he really did.

_How could he miss him when they were merely meters apart?_

Maybe Minho was right. All he had to do was head over there anyway. It couldn’t hurt. Jiyong would never hurt him.

But maybe he was also afraid.

He’s been rejected before, none of them feeling good. Every time Jiyong pushed him away, the more he felt like not approaching at all. Which, he thought, was weird because Jiyong was always the first person he’d run to.

"Awwww," cooed Sungmin further, placing his head in his hands in the cute way that was just so natural for him. "Is the team’s baby sad?"

Seungri was irked by the nickname. He felt mocked, but he knew Sungmin just talked to everyone as if they were all toddlers. He didn’t actually know what was with the guy and why he did so. His speech pattern was just so... alien.

"Stop calling me that. Jimin is younger than me," he complained. "Heck, not even in this table. Minho’s younger than me!"

Minho scoffed. "Only by a few days."

Mino scoffed. "And you whine more than all of us combined.”

Seungri was still shocked as to how identical the two could be.

"Meanies!" he huffed, figuring that if they accepted him as a baby, then they could deal with him acting like one. "You’re all so mean to me! You take my food and don’t support me at all! None of you are even sitting beside me! I hate you! How could you guys be so mean?!"

"All right, who made the baby cry?"

A hand made its way to his head for a loving pat. Seungri didn’t have to look up to know who it was. He merely slapped the hand away, annoyed even more.

"You have no respect, first year!" scowled the panda.

Park Jimin clasped his hands together and made an annoyingly condescending face. "Awww, the baby’s acting up," he teased.

Seungri huffed and the youngest took a seat beside him.

Park Jimin was the only freshman who got into the team that year. With a surplus of skilled third years, and considering the loyalty they had put, the coach had no choice but to let them take the spots available. Jimin was talented enough to make it. Graceful and brave, he was fearless in his drives. He was small and healthy, and he couldn’t really get past any of their big men, but he was never deterred. More than a little bit proud because he was young, beautiful, and talented, Park Jimin was the famous freshman, much like Jiyong and Nana had been.

So, okay, Seungri could totally accept that he was more of a baby than Park Jimin.

Still.

Seungri wasn’t too happy about that.

Jimin sat beside him, giving him a bright friendly smile that never betrayed. Their youngest might have talked to them as if they were all of the same age, but none of them really minded. Age was but a number after all.

“Really, though,” said the freshman. “What’s up?”

“Jiyong doesn’t love him back,” Mino remarked.

Seungri groaned.

“You already confessed?!” Jimin surprised.

Seungri spluttered. “No!” he yelled, scandalized.

Jimin shrugged. “You should. He totally loves you back.”

“I don’t _love_ Yongie.”

There were incredulous looks, snorts, and a system of mockeries only those immature could think of.

“Sure, you don’t,” Mino said.

“Ah, denial,” Sungmin went.

“Confused, more like it,” Jimin found.

“I’ll make sure to let him know later,” Minho challenged.

Seungri was the baby of the group in more ways than one. Innocent despite his curiosity, he was the least experienced of them all. He was also the only one who had _reservations_ about _liking_ Jiyong because they were both boys. Not that his mother has actually told him that boys should only like girls – she was, in fact, very supportive and already knew – but Seungri didn’t. He hadn’t figured it all out then.

Sungmin was fifteen, started schooling a year late, had his first love at fourteen. It lasted for a good amount of two months before he decided that she wasn’t worth all the trouble. She found him too girly, wanted him to change his preferences from his favorite color (pink) to his aegyo tongue. It was just too tiresome.

His parents were conservative, which was hard for him because he liked quote-unquote girly stuff. Fortunately, he was straight. He didn’t have to struggle with the difficulty of acceptance. So he was thankful and never judged others just for their sexual preference.

Mino’s parents were liberals who basically let him did what he wanted so long as he didn’t fuck up – their words, not his. His parents took it upon themselves to educate and guide him with the realities of life and at the same time tried to let the boy make his own decisions.

He lived his life based on his own volition and he figured that sexual preference made for a poor basis of judgement, so he couldn’t really care any less if Seungri wanted Jiyong to be the person he kissed all his life.

Congratulations to them and whatever.

Mino lost his virginity to a woman three years older.

Congratulations to him too and whatever.

Minho was basically the same, but for a rather different reason. Whereas Mino thought that sexual preference wasn’t a credible basis for judgement, Minho thought that it _shouldn’t_ be a credible basis of judgement. So he tended to protect those who were bullied, defend those who were suppressed, and fight with the voiceless. Of course, he was eleven, and those were probably sentences he failed to fully understand, but it came naturally to him to think like that, even if he couldn’t put it down on paper or formulate the words.

He got himself at least one girlfriend each year for the whole of high school until his first year of university, until he met the person who completed him and never let go, which he had Seungri to thank for.

Park Jimin was just a child wise beyond his years. Although he was smart enough to do well in all of his classes, his wisdom is something to laud. Rather selfish and proud of himself, he never really judged nor discriminated against.

The others never really knew when he had a girlfriend or boyfriend, or if he even was straight or not for that matter, because he was just so casual about everything. They had asked, but he’d always answer with a show business shrug or an infuriatingly vague answer that they learned to just roll with.

Seungri spluttered. “No, I do,” he said, horrified at the idea of Jiyong thinking that he didn’t love him. “But not… not like that.”

Seungri blushed, not knowing exactly what _like that_ meant.

Jimin, pursing his lips and choosing to just accept what Seungri said because they’ve been teasing him like this ever since he met him, elbowed the boy sitting beside him.

“Hey, Hyun,” he began, “Is Jiyong finally Nana’s boyfriend?”

The hotness in Seungri’s cheeks died down as their whole table turned to the popular kids’ table.

Nana was practically draped over Jiyong, her arms wound around his as she pressed her body on him. She was looking into his eyes as she talked animatedly, their whole table’s attention on her. Someone else talked and she’d turn her head, resting it on Jiyong’s shoulder. It was all very sweet and adorable and it sort of made Seungri want to puke. Jiyong, at least, had kept his hands to himself. Seungri knew the elder enough to know that his hands were clasped between his knees under the table.

Minho snapped his fingers in front of his face and he has apparently spaced out again.

“What?” he asked, a little dazed.

“A boyfriend,” said Mino, sarcastic and amused. “You know, the thing you insist you don’t want to be with Jiyong?”

Sungmin chuckled. Minho smirked.

“Ha. Ha,” deadpanned little Seunghyun, crossing his arms. “I know what that is, you mean person. Consider your food privileges revoked.”

Mino and Jimin gasped.

"I can’t believe you!" Jimin, who had the attention span as long as the memory of a goldfish, bellowed suddenly, surprising the table and the closer parts of the cafeteria. "You didn’t leave any for me!"

Jimin stood up and snatched the lunchbox, which had been in Sungmin’s hands. Rice was all that was left.

Seungri’s eyes flitted over to Jiyong’s table and realized that Jimin and their little group of weird un-jock-like jocks acquired the attention of the ‘cool kids.’ Jiyong was staring directly at him.

Seungri blushed.

Jiyong had smiled so sweetly.

"Seunghyun-ah!" Jimin cried, making Seungri’s eyes flit back to him. "They finished it all!"

Seungri blushed harder.

Okay, so maybe sometimes Jimin was the bigger baby.

Seungri pulled at the youngest’s pants, forcing him back down next to him. "Shut it," he hissed. "You’re embarrassing us!"

"Yeah, Jimin-ah," remarked Mino, picking at his teeth. "You’re such an embarrassment."

Minho rested his cheek on his fist. "You snoozed, loser."

"What took you so long, anyway?" asked Sungmin, whipping another carton of chocolate milk out of nowhere and sticking a straw into it.

"It wasn’t my fault," Jimin defended, still hysterical, causing the rice inside the box to fly everywhere.

Seungri grabbed his hand quickly, bothered by the wasted rice.

"Some girl confessed and held me up," Jimin smugly continued.

Minho scoffed.

Mino rolled his eyes.

Sungmin gaped. "Again?!" he laughed. "That’s the second time this month!"

"They just don’t know how stupid you are."

"She must be blind or something."

Seungri had no idea who said which, if it was Mino or Minho, but Jimin didn’t seem to care.

"You’re just jealous I’m the king of this school," the youngest proudly challenged.

Suddenly, a full plate of food was placed in front of Seungri and their whole table stopped. The panda boy certainly hadn’t expected it.

Obviously, the others hadn’t as well.

Jiyong was standing beside him, hands on his waist and a disapproving look toward Minho.

Minho raised his eyebrow. "What do you want, Kwon?"

Jiyong rolled his eyes, reminding himself that their harassing relationship was one still based on friendship. He ignored the question and rubbed at Seungri’s cheek.

The boy had gotten thinner. Not too bad, he knew it was because the boy had been constantly training for the school’s official basketball team. Healthier would probably be the better word.

Seungri gulped.

"Eat well, Riri," commanded Jiyong affectionately, not minding the others on the table.

The others were used to this. Jiyong would sometimes go over their table just to baby Seungri and pretend the rest of them didn’t exist, with the exception of Minho whom he regarded with a cold and friendly disposition. Minho was used to it; he treated Jiyong the same way.

Sungmin was too kind to mind the so-called disrespect.

Mino had absolutely no care on the matter.

Jimin was, well, a freshman who had no say at all.

Seungri hummed.

"I’ll see you later, then?"

Seungri hummed.

Jiyong smiled. He took a piece of chocolate from the pocket of his shirt and handed it over. Seungri lit up bright like the sun on the best summer day.

Ruffling his boy’s hair, Jiyong chuckled. "Cute," was his lone remark before heading back to his table.

Seungri stared on.

Kwon Jiyong was probably the most popular boy in the school. The son of a lawyer and an up-and-coming Kids’ Wear designer, he was pretty and handsome, smart, had promising props in rapping, and had the exotic, pretty, Japanese girl in his arm.

And he took care of Seungri.

Sungmin sighed wistfully. "You may not be king," he addressed Jimin when the latter looked to him, "but I definitely know who the queen is."

Seungri was sure there was an insult there somewhere. But frankly, he couldn’t care less. Not when Jiyong showed affection through his touch and only Seungri knew just how gentle that touch could be.

 

 

 

 

 

"So tell me why you can’t come over again?" Seungri was asked as he and Jiyong walked to his place.

The younger was picking on a purple cloud of cotton candy that they bought on the way. He tore some off and fed the concoction of industrialized sugar to Jiyong. The elder melted it with his tongue.

"Mom’s home," Seungri happily answered. It’s been days since he had a proper sit down with the woman that gave birth to him. "She’s making us dinner."

Jiyong hummed. "That’s nice," he genuinely commented.

“Would you like to come?” Seungri offered.

“Nah,” declined the elder. “You should have your time alone with her. I know it’s been long.”

Seungri giggled. “It has. Thank you, hyung.”

They fell into another easy silence. Seungri continued feeding Jiyong. Jiyong continued carrying his bag. It should, but something still didn’t feel right. There was a question that bugged Seungri ever since it was asked.

Seungri cleared his throat and Jiyong smiled knowingly.

“H-hey, hyung,” Seungri stuttered, nervous but overwhelmingly curious. “Is Nana your girlfriend?”

Jiyong snorted. He most definitely had not expected that question. His teammates must have been putting ideas into his head again. He knew they were a bad influence. Mino and Jimin were trouble the moment he laid eyes on them.

But he wasn’t one to talk, was he? His friends weren’t the nicest of people either, but they were fun and they never meant any real harm. Besides, Minho turned out to be nice enough and he liked Sungmin. He supplied Seungri’s sweet cravings so Jiyong didn’t have to always worry about it.

Jiyong chuckled, adored that Seungri was so obviously nerve-racked. He draped his arm over the younger’s shoulders and pulled him closer. “Why do you want to know?”

“N-nothing,” Seungri said, “just, if you like her, you should tell me. I’m your best friend. I deserve to know when my best friend likes a g-girl.”

Jiyong laughed. Seungri was too cute for it to be healthy.

They arrived at Seungri’s place. It wasn’t too long of a walk, just a couple of minutes farther from Jiyong’s, even though it was completely on the opposite direction. Jiyong gave Seungri’s bag back when they reached the doorstep.

The younger thought he was being dismissed, that Jiyong didn’t want to answer as much as he had not wanted to ask. But as he took his keys and unlocked the door, Jiyong held him lightly by the wrist.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he confessed. “If I wanted her to, she’d already be.”

To that, Seungri chuckled. Somehow, he had no doubts about that. His hyung really was _all that_.

“And she’s not that one I like,” Jiyong continued, “ _like that.”_

It was a good day, Seungri thought, as he stared at Jiyong with the sunlight shining behind him. He didn’t know why there were butterflies in his chest and why his cheeks suddenly felt hot. He was reminded of that one summer day he could never forget. He was reminded that Jiyong hasn’t kissed anyone else but him.

He wondered why it never rained on days like this, why it was always sunny and windy, never too hot or too cold. He wondered why everything was always just right whenever he was with Jiyong.

Then the elder smiled and time started ticking again. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispered, as if immensely aware of the severe fragility of the moment.

As Jiyong turned, Seungri wondered about all the thoughts in his head couldn’t understand and all the feelings he couldn’t decipher.

He went inside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chuncheon was a city just a little over an hour outside the vicinity of Seoul. It was a safe place bereft of the hustle and bustle of true city life. Mostly quiet at night, there was really nothing to worry about. However, this, Seungri didn’t actually know. It was part of the grown-up stuff he had yet to face, which he never had to actually face because he wouldn’t be the one living there after college.

So, little Lee Seunghyun who wasn’t as tall as Minho, or as wide as Mino, or as athletic as Sungmin, or as clever as Jimin, braved the dark and empty 8:48PM streets of Chuncheon just to get to Jiyong.

He almost got lost, poor boy, because the only way he knew to get there was to head to school first then head to the Kwons’ second. He was scared, definitely, but halfway through, he was desperate and has travelled too far to turn back. So he steeled his nerves and just kept walking, trying not to mind the cold and almost-empty streets.

He wanted to cry.

Then, miracle of miracles, he made it. He could recognize Jiyong’s street, and soon he could see the door to his home. His steps went quicker despite his aching legs.

He felt safer. He felt relieved. He felt free.

He pressed the doorbell continuously until the door was opened.

It was close to 10PM.

“Seunghyun!” gasped Jiyong’s father, stunned.

Seungri tried to greet him, but he was more exhausted than he thought. He could barely wheeze out a _hi_ after he ran the whole of their street.

“Honey!” yelled the man urgently, as if seeing the young boy rang emergency bells in his head. He pulled Seungri inside by the collar, a little harshly, like a parent would his own child who did something utterly stupid. “Seunghyun _is_ here!”

“Seungri!” someone screamed and the panda boy soon found himself being tackled to the ground by frantic eyes and a sniveling smile. “You’re here! You’re here! I’m so glad you’re safe!”

Jiyong was soon followed by a worried Mrs. Kwon and a worried Dami.

“Oh, thank goodness,” gasped the mother. She had been holding a phone to her chest, and she clutched it back to her ear. “He’s here, Seonha. We’ll take care of him until you could come over.”

Seungri’s ears perked up. “No!” he bellowed, squirming out of Jiyong’s hold and trying to race up the stairs. “I don’t want to go back! Don’t make me!”

Kwon Joonyoung grabbed him expertly by the collar once more. “Oh, no you don’t,” he said, stern and strict, “you have a lot of explaining to do, young man.”

Seungri kept squirming, almost violently that the man had to kneel down to keep the boy steady. Seungri changed strategies and, in a swift motion, clasped his arms tightly around his neck.

The boy couldn’t help it, then. He cried. He cried and cried and cried and he couldn’t stop even if he tried. Loud and utterly hysterical, the sight of Seungri was heartbreaking.

Mr. Kwon softened and took him to the living room, rubbing a hand on his back as he tried to soothe the boy with reassuring words.

But Seungri wouldn’t stop. He felt overwhelmed and caged and he just wanted to get away.

The man had taken a seat on the couch as he cradled the pitiful eleven-year-old in his arms. He could hear Jiyong sniffing beside him, but Mr. Kwon felt too much of a safe haven for him to let go.

Sobs rocked his insides and his stomach clenched and unclenched from the effort. He could hardly breathe and he could barely hear anything but the loud frustrations of his heart and chaotic notions in his mind.

It was tiring, damningly exhausting, and he wasn’t even energetic to begin with. All the emotions that went through him were draining: from the desperation to the fear, from the hopelessness to the anger, from the depression to the loneliness.

Like a bucket overflowed, he let it all out.

He let all the tears out until there was nothing left.

 

 

 

 

 

In the morning, he woke up to Jiyong holding him like he was someone special, and he forgot why his eyes stung so much.

By his small fists, he scrunched the fabric in front of Jiyong’s shirt, drawing in closer and letting his senses get filled by everything Kwon Jiyong.

He felt centered, so much unlike last night when he was magnificently unstable and volatile. He was calm and complete and undeniably content in his warmth.

His heart swelled.

And, for the first time, instead of wondering why that was, Seungri simply basked in it.


	10. Chapter 10

Jiyong was thirteen when he figured who the love of his life was.

 

 

 

 

 

Well, that wasn’t quite right. He and Seungri experienced so many things together that he didn’t know _exactly_ when he _simply knew_ that Seungri was the one – _the goddamn fucking one_ – for him. But he was thirteen when everything went so clear in his head for the first time and there was only one prevailing thought that resounded in his soul.

_Ah, I love Seungri._

And the feeling was just so undeniable in both his heart and mind that he could not, even if he tried, get it out of his system.

This was how it went:

 

 

 

 

 

Seungri wouldn’t let him go. They were able to pry him off his father, but Seungri just latched his arms around Jiyong instead.

His boy hadn’t wanted to go home. He violently objected to going home with his mother, and Jiyong, softhearted and essentially putty when it came to Seungri, just asked why the younger just couldn’t stay the night, that fateful night when Seungri escaped from his own home and walked to Jiyong’s only to cry his heart out.

Jiyong was honest when he said that he would take care of him.

He was respectful when he pointed out that that might be the best.

He was sincere when he promised that he would be a good hyung for his dongsaeng.

And Lee Seonha, the woman he endlessly thanked for bringing Seungri into the world, was trustful when she agreed.

Of course she was hurt. She was a mother. But she also knew that the fault was only hers to take. Seungri hadn’t been subtle in communicating his distaste in her dating. It could only be her fault when she suddenly surprised her son with a dinner with the man she was dating, after four days of being unable to have dinner with Seungri because of work. Worst was, the man she was dating was her boss, the man Seungri more than likely blamed from her constant absence.

It was a disaster. Seungri’s coldness towards the man and short impolite answers ticked her and made her scream at him. Seungri had been rude. He’d screamed his frustrations and bravely expressed his hatred towards the man, and she’d taken it as abhorring disrespect.

She grounded him, scolded him to stay in his room until he thought about the wrong that he’s done, and she was so mad she turned her back as her son wordlessly cried.

She sobered up almost an hour later, realizing just how lonely her son must be, to not have a father or a sibling, to only have his school friends to keep him company, to have to come back to a cold home. She shouldn’t have expected too much from her eleven-year-old boy. She should have understood him instead.

But when she tried to apologize, Seungri was already gone. Escaped, like a ninja, and she panicked.

 

 

 

 

 

Seungri was picked up by his mom the following morning, thanking the Kwons for all they did, especially thanked Jiyong for always being there for her little boy.

Instead of blaming her, because he hadn’t even thought once that he should blame her, she told him words she already knew.

“ _You can trust me, eomonim._ ”

It just came out so naturally that neither one thought anything of it.

The next day, though, Seungri didn’t go to class and he had to deal with Minho hounding him about it the whole day.

 

 

 

 

 

Choi Minho’s large hands slammed on his desk during lunch time. They were in second year, seriously, and Minho still had the habit of going into other people’s classrooms.

Jiyong looked to the side and saw Mino leaning on the doorway.

“Where’s Seunghyun and what did you do to him?!”

Jiyong sat back and regarded the taller boy. There was a snicker from the side and Jiyong knew Mino must have incarcerated him.

Jiyong used to think that he got the lesser evil when he got into the same class as Song Mino. His friendship with Minho had always been antagonistic. And although Jiyong and Mino weren’t technically friends, at least the baller was quiet and kept to himself about most things.

Jiyong rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. He also crossed his legs, but he just ended up bumping the table and hurting his knee. A blush crawled up his neck.

“What do you think I did, Minho-ssi?” he spat.

Minho pursed his lips, visibly ticked when he realized that the boy by the doorway might have pulled a fast one on him. “You locked him up in a dungeon somewhere to throw him with the fishes because he’s coming between you and Nana?”

Jiyong paused.

Then Jiyong laughed so hysterically it had Mino laughing at the gullible boy.

Maybe Song Mino wasn’t too bad after all.

“Really?” Jiyong asked as he turned to Mino. “He believed that?”

“I know, right?” grinned the other. “He must really be stupid or something.”

Minho rattled Jiyong’s desk. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!”

Mino finally entered his classroom and took the seat beside Jiyong. It was Nana’s seat, but he didn’t really care.

Although he did want to fart in it.

He chose to ignore Minho and elbowed Jiyong instead. “Did Seunghyun text you too?”

“Yeah,” said Jiyong, tipping his head. “I already talked to his adviser during break. I’ll bring his assignment to him.”

Mino sighed and gave Jiyong a friendly pat. It was more like a slap that caught Jiyong breathless, but that was to be expected of the broad boy. “Thank you,” he breathed. “We have practice today so I couldn’t do it.”

“Hello?” Minho snapped his fingers in between their faces. Mino was getting annoyed of his stupid habit. “Stop ignoring me.”

Jiyong smirked. “What? Seungri didn’t text you?”

Mino saw the chance and took it. “Aww, is poor Minho-yah not important enough for his little Hyunnie?”

Minho pouted and Jiyong saw the appeal. The former had large puppy eyes that would have been adorable if he still didn’t think that Minho was ugly.

“He’s at home, dumbass,” Mino gave in. “Family problem or some shit.”

Minho’s hostile form softened. “Is it about his mother?”

Mino shrugged. “I guess.”

Jiyong was surprised. Truth be told, all Seungri texted was: _eomma wont let me go 2 school. Bring hw._

He was reminded that he wasn’t the only person in Seungri’s life, that his boy had friends to whom he also confided in. It was a reality he was slowly trying to accept.

“But why didn’t he text me?” Minho sulked.

“Because you would have worried and stressed out like the spaz you are.” Mino propped his cheek on the table as he leaned on Jiyong’s side and rummaged through his stuff.

Jiyong pushed his face away, but Mino’s long limbs got a hold on what he had been looking for. “What the heck, Song! That’s mine!”

“I was hungry,” he said, as if that warranted in his taking of Jiyong’s lunchbox. “Seunghyun wasn’t around to bring me food.”

Jiyong snatched it back. “No wonder he’s always hungry.”

“Seunghyun is always hungry even if we don’t take his food,” Minho laughed.

“Aish,” Mino sighed. “Why do you only share with Seunghyun? It’s so unfair.”

Jiyong kept his lunchbox close to his chest and stuck his tongue out, as mature of a comeback as he could manage.

“But Hyunnie’s going to be okay, right?” Minho suddenly asked, sheepish and resigned because he knew no one was as close to Seungri as Jiyong.

Jiyong was reminded that, antagonistic or not, Minho was also his friend.

“I’ll make sure he will be,” was what Jiyong said, because although he wasn’t sure of the _now_ , he could make it so for the future.

 

 

 

 

 

Jiyong ended up telling his father that he had to skip dance practice that day because Seungri needed him to stay over. He was allowed, Mr. Kwon aware of the delicate situation then, and dropped him off at Seungri’s place after a quick trip home.

Jiyong rang the doorbell.

As soon as the door opened, Seungri flung himself and breathed Jiyong in. The elder shivered, the sensation of being needed washed through him, addicting in itself.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” Seungri sighed and Jiyong’s chest tightened. “I was so lonely.”

Jiyong pressed at Seungri’s head with one hand, the other pressing on the small of Seungri’s back. Their knees clacked, their bodies lined fittingly.

Seungri used to shine brighter than the sun behind Jiyong, but the boy had been unstable. He was cheerful at school, where Jiyong and his friends and basketball took his attention. But when he was at home, Seungri was often lonely, longing for the nights his mother was home, craving for the dinners she used to cook for him.

Jiyong asked him once if he had not wanted his mother to be happy, that what if dating would give his mother happiness, and Seungri had been selfish when he answered.

_She could be happy with me,_ he had insisted.

And Jiyong couldn’t protest it because he could definitely be happy with Seungri, no questions asked.

Soon, Jiyong gently pushed Seungri away, taking hold of his hand, leading the younger inside, and locking the door behind them.

“Where is eomonim?” Jiyong asked, expecting to have seen her there.

The place was quiet, all the lights turned off as if nobody had been staying in. Jiyong could almost hear nothing but the thuds of their steps and the echoes of his voice that bounced on the walls. The door to Seungri’s door was opened, but the lights weren’t on there as well. Only the fan was being used.

“What did you do all day, Ri?” Jiyong asked, squeezing the younger’s hand.

Seungri shrugged. “Sleep.”

Seungri had been crying too; Jiyong could tell by the swell of Seungri’s eyes.

The elder couldn’t take it. The idea of Seungri crying beside himself all day did something painful to him.

He brought his hands on the sides of Seungri’s face. “Talk to me, Ri. How have you been?”

There were still a few droplets that hung from his lashes, eyes still moist. He shouldn’t have looked so beautiful in his sadness. It shouldn’t have been a good look for Seungri.

“I’m,” the boy croaked “fine, I think.”

Jiyong waited, because there had to be more.

“Now that you’re here.”

Seungri looked up, directly capturing Jiyong’s eyes with his, and it wasn’t safe. Alarms were blaring in his head, sirens screaming for him to look away, look away before it was too late.

But this was Seungri, his best friend, his closest friend, and there could be nothing unsafe with him.

Nothing at all, and all the noises died down as the truth of it all emerged, that he’d do anything for this boy if it meant that tears would never graze his eyes, but those of happiness.

There was no sudden epiphany. There was no grand event.

There was just them, and Jiyong’s want to protect, to lift, to hold, and to care.

Jiyong wanted to love Seungri because there was something about him that made him feel selfless and selfish at the same time. There was something wrong about feeling this way at thirteen, but so right because it was with Seungri.

There was just something there that Jiyong couldn’t place.

He didn’t beat himself up about it, that didn’t matter. He just felt, and the feeling was just so overwhelming because the boy he loved was having a difficult time and he could hardly do anything about it, when Seungri has done so much for him.

He wanted to fix it. He wanted so much for Seungri to be happy again, but he didn’t know how.

“Do you want to eat?” he suddenly asked because it was the first thing that popped into his head, because Seungri had always been happy when he had something in his mouth.

Seungri stopped.

And Jiyong looked so concerned, so frustrated, so worried that Seungri couldn’t stop the corners of his lips from lifting up.

Then his stomach growled and that was answer enough for them to leave their bags and head to the kitchen, hand in hand, laughter filling their bellies in the meanwhile.

 

 

 

“You should learn how to cook, hyung,” Seungri scolded as he chopped the onions finely into pieces. They had extra sauce in the fridge and spaghetti was a quick and easy enough dish to do, so Seungri thought it would be good.

It might have been a little too early for dinnertime, but he hasn’t eaten all day. The cheese got him excited.

Jiyong hummed from his place at the dining table. He was busy with a pen in doing his assignments. He didn’t have much. He planned to do Seungri’s next. “I have you though, so I don’t have to.”

“Yeah,” the younger gave easily as he moved the onions to the side and checked on the noodles. He dipped the ladle in boiling water to scoop out a strand, putting it in his mouth and chewing. It was ready. “But what if you don’t have me?”

Jiyong looked up, more baffled by the question than the homework. “But I’ll always have you.”

Seungri replaced the pot of noodles with another empty one for the sauce. “True.”

Jiyong hummed and continued working, but Seungri’s request of straining the noodles had him postponing his academic progress.

Homework could wait. Seungri needed him.

 

 

 

Jiyong woke up in the middle of the night, in Seungri’s room, in Seungri’s bed, with Seungri in his arms.

The window on Jiyong’s side was opened. The cool night breeze blew into the room, making the curtains and the hair dance away from Seungri’s face. It was so warm underneath the covers, hot, as Seungri’s skin stuck to his. Their legs were tangled and the younger’s lips would have been so close to his collar bone if he hadn’t moved away. A shiver ran through Seungri and Jiyong felt all, and he couldn’t handle it.

The arm under Seungri’s head was resting on felt dead. His other hand on Seungri’s waist felt too comfortable. His heart felt too alive and they were too young.

Jiyong got up before Seungri could nuzzle into him further, before the temptation could get to Jiyong further. He trembled, his hands did, because he was just so unused to seeing Seungri as _the one,_ and it almost scared him how much he wanted.

His throat felt dry and he got up, silently got out of the room. The artificial light of the fluorescent sobered him, long before his first ever taste of alcohol. It was a welcoming feeling.

He found Seungri’s mother crying in front of the opened refrigerator.

“ _Eomonim?_ ” fell from his lips and she turned, hiccupping with surprise at the intrusion.

“J-jiyong-ah,” she tried as she pushed the door shut and wiped at her face quickly. “What d-do you need, honey?”

Seungri, Jiyong realized, cried like his mother. Their shoulders shook, they gritted their teeth, and they sniffled the whole time.

He walked over to pat her hands. “It’s okay, eomonim,” he said. “Don’t cry.”

She laughed lightly as she sat them down on the table. “You’re sweet, Jiyongie,” she said. “I just saw the spaghetti in the fridge and it made me sad because I can’t do anything about work.”

“Seungri,” Jiyong tried, “he just misses you. He feels lonely when you’re not around. He was so excited yesterday, you know, when he thought he could finally have dinner with you?”

She giggled lightly, still rather shaken by her tears. She didn’t know, and in the end, she couldn’t fault her adorable child even if some of her co-workers called him a brat. Her son just wanted his mother home. She should be glad.

She promised herself that she was going to make it better, talk her boyfriend into letting her take less hours so she could spend time with her son. He’d understand. They’d been going out for months and he was itching for acceptance.

She already lost the father; she wasn’t going to lose the son.

Jiyong smiled at her. “It’ll be okay,” he promised once again.

Lee Seonha was young for a mother. She had Seungri when she was eighteen, barely legal, but she had been so in love. She regretted none of it. She was able to experience a love so true and Seungri was her treasure.

But she was a single parent and she was so young and she did try her best. She just lacked, to her dismay.

So she was thankful for the people who filled in the gaps she was still trying to fill.

(Motherhood was a constant learning process anyway.)

“Jiyong-ah,” she sniffled, sounding a little more serious as she held the boy’s hands. “Do you like our Seungri?”

Jiyong startled, caught off guard by the question he hadn’t thought to be asked. He felt his cheeks warm and his eyes bugged out and they were too young and what if she forbade him to see Seungri again and he just tried to be a good hyung, he didn’t mean to fall in love –

“It’s okay, Yongie. You can tell _eomonim_.”

And she was right, wasn’t she? She never stopped him from calling her that; she always welcomed him with open arms; she trusted him and treated him like she would Seungri; and she was right, wasn’t she?

“I do,” was all he managed to say before the embarrassment got to him completely.

She giggled, and he looked up. There was a hand on his head and a fondness on her features. “I knew it,” she said. “I knew it all along.”

Jiyong panicked. “Don’t tell him!” he blurted, arms reaching out as if to stop her from doing it right then. He wasn’t panning on telling Seungri, not until he was ready, not until the butterflies in his stomach told him he should. “Please, eomonim! You can’t.”

She bopped his nose lightly. “Of course, I won’t,” she said, to the young boy’s relief. “But you’ve got to promise me something.”

Jiyong hesitated. He wasn’t even stable enough to promise himself anything, let alone the birth mother of his heart.

“What is it?”

“That you don’t do anything until Riri’s ready. Never make him feel lonely, and love him as much as he loves you. Don’t make the same mistakes I did, Jiyong-ah. Got it?”

Well, that wasn’t much of a promise after all. He didn’t even have to.

“Got it.”

 

 

 

 

 

Lee Sungmin and Park Jimin thought there was something peculiar about Kwon Jiyong being in the gym.

Kwon Jiyong was never in the gym.

“Minnie,” Jimin whispered conspiratorially, a little out of breath from the suicides they just had to run. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“That Kwon Jiyong just waltzed into our home like he owned the place and just sat by Seunghyun’s bag?”

“Yep.”

“Yep.”

Jimin hissed. “It’s so weird. What is he doing here?”

“Beats me, freshman. Why don’t you go ask Seunghyun?”

Jimin would have, but the coach had just whistled for a water break and the team’s baby was skipping towards Jiyong.

_Skipping, for Christ’s sake, when Seunghyun had been developing a habit of staring his opponent’s down fearsomely when he had the ball._

So Jimin walked over to Minho and Mino instead. Yet, before he could say anything, Minho raised his hand to his face, already aware of what was up.

_God damn big man with his big hands and his freaking habit of putting it in everyone’s face._

“Follow me,” he said, like the Sentinel of Seungri.

They approached the two as a group, a little wary and with the feel of their teammates’ eyes on their backs. None of the rest were as close as they were. Even their coach let the middle school boys be.

Seungri lit up as they approached. “Yongie-hyung’s here!” he announced, when they clearly already knew.

“Yeah, hi, uhm,” began Mino. “What’s he doing here?”

“Nothing,” Jiyong answered for himself, taking a towel and wiping at Seungri’s back as the younger gulped down a bottle of water. “I didn’t have dance so I came here instead.”

“Right,” said Minho.

Seungri raised to them a plastic bag. “He also brought us water and chocolates!”

Sungmin perked at the mention of the sweet candy. He snatched the bag and rummaged through.

“Thank you?” said Jimin.

Jiyong shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

“Hold on, I have to pee,” Seungri cried with both his hands on his crotch and his little legs putting his training to good use to the bathroom.

There was a pause.

“Will this be an occurring thing?” Sungmin asked around a bar of goodness.

Jiyong scoffed, sitting back and not at all phased that Seungri’s teammates were staring him down. “No. I was free; so I stayed.”

“Good. Seeing you here is awkward,” said Minho, nonetheless taking a bottle from the plastic.

Jiyong stared him down, leaving him no room for any misunderstanding. “You’re not who I came for, stupid. I don’t care if you’re awkward.”

Sungmin laughed, having the most experience with relationships among them. “You sound like a jealous boyfriend!”

Jiyong was silent. Then he gave another shrug.

Four boys gasped.

Dramatically.

“Oh, come on,” laughed Jiyong. “You’re too much!”

“I didn’t know you were already together!” Minho said, a little hysterical.

“We aren’t,” Jiyong confessed, a shy smile gracing his features, unfamiliar to the four other boys but otherwise welcomed. “Not yet, at least. Hopefully.”

“Hallelujah!” screamed Jimin, hands over his head. His grin was too wide for Jiyong’s liking. “Thank God. I thought we were going through the cliché of falling in love with the bad girl before you realize the good girl was here for you all along.”

“Seungri is no girl,” laughed Jiyong, bringing a hand to his chest at the thought of Seungri in a pretty yellow dressed that flowed around his knees.

Jimin intertwined his hands and acted cutely. “He’s our baby girl.”

“Don’t worry,” placated Sungmin before Jiyong could say anything. “Seungri was the one who said he wanted to be a girl.”

“Okay,” Jiyong snorted, deciding that it was a story for another time and that he wanted to hear it from Seungri himself. “But Nana is not bad,” he defended. “And I’m not stupid.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” quipped Minho.

The coach blew his whistle, and Sungmin pointed out that Seungri still wasn’t there.

Mino rolled his eyes and fetched the panda boy. “He probably couldn’t turn the faucet off again.”

Jiyong laughed, because he knew how that story went, how his boy panicked and cried because the water won’t stop flowing and he thought he was going to flood the bathroom.

Mino winked at him.

Sungmin gave him one if his proud hyung smiles.

Jimin gave him two thumbs up.

Minho tipped his head.

 

 

And Jiyong felt good. He had the approval of Seungri’s mother. He had the approval of Seungri’s friends.

Only Seungri was left.

 

 

 

 

 

If only that were as easy.


	11. Chapter 11

“You know,” Chaerin told him as she read through the lyrics Jiyong had just handed her. “You could literally write his name in this song and he still wouldn’t get it.”

Jiyong knew.

Jiyong sighed. “Just sing it, Chae, please,” he begged. “I know what I’m doing.”

They’d been sitting in his room for a little over three hours. Immediately after school, while Seungri had to run to basketball practice, they’d gone home because Jiyong wanted Chaerin to sing something for him. It shouldn’t have taken over an hour but gossip was first and Chaerin had a lot of them.

Chaerin scoffed. She didn’t doubt that, not at all, but why he didn’t just outright tell Seungri that he loved him is beyond her.

The boy had practically done everything but say the damn words. There was a Westlife song about that or something, she forgot. Point was, Seungri was as dense as a coconut and if Jiyong wanted to get his point across, he’d have to do it the old-fashioned way.

With words.

But no, Jiyong wanted to add spunk to it. He wanted to accompany the words with beats and a melody, and Chaerin would not be at fault if Seungri didn’t get it again because Jiyong was being a right coward.

If she weren’t his friend she so totally would have left because his stupidity was something she didn’t want to catch.

“You can’t catch stupidity, Chae,” Jiyong deadpanned and she might have told him all of that. Didn’t matter, it was all true anyway.

“How would you know? You’re stupid.”

Jiyong glared. She got the point.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded her head.

When Jiyong pressed the spacebar of his laptop, beats started pouring in from the headphones he made her wear. On cue, she sang the lines just as he taught her. Aside from a few minor mistakes, it was great.

He knew she was perfect for it.

Lee Chaerin was a girl from Seungri’s class. And although he hated how she and Seungri became friends, he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe he should have seen it coming when during the beginning of their last year of middle school, Nana became classmates with Seungri. Maybe Jiyong should have known that she wouldn’t take rejection well, not when everyone was probably rooting for her. Maybe Jiyong really was just friends with the wrong people.

Luckily, Mino had been there, being Seungri’s classmate and all. Fortunately, so was Chaerin.

It was the Monday after Jiyong told Nana that he didn’t like her, that she shouldn’t hope because he would never like her, and that it wasn’t her fault that he liked someone else.

And maybe he could have used better words, but words were something one couldn’t really take back once said.

It made Nana angry; it made her so mad that on the Monday after, she stormed to Seungri’s table before classes even began and flipped.

She flipped.

The table, Seungri’s things, his chair, and other things.

She flipped.

And all their other classmates were dumbfounded, stunned that Nana – little miss perfect Nana – was capable of such anger and aggression that she suddenly pulled at Seungri’s hair and slammed his head onto the table as hard as she could.

But Seungri didn’t fight back. Too caught up in his own shock, he was unable to respond quickly, merely being able to resist her push so his head hadn’t slammed as hard as she wanted.

Then Mino came in, pulling the boy to his feet and behind so that the taller was a wall between them. Yet Mino couldn’t fight back either, not when his and Nana’s difference in strength was so manifestly inequitable.

Chaerin jumped in then, pulling the punches – literal, painful punches – none of them could.

The four of them were sent to the Guidance Office, with Nana and Chaerin getting suspended for a few days for inflicting physical blows. Nana was transferred to another section. She refused to room with Seungri. She vehemently denied wanting to be in the same class as Jiyong. It left her in Minho’s class.

The Choi boy kept an eye on her.

Jiyong’s old lunch posse defended the Japanese girl, saying that there was nothing wrong with what she did. After that, Jiyong couldn’t stand them anymore.

Or sit with them.

It was a pun he liked to tell himself since no one else found it funny. Screw them and their lack of sense of humor.

 

 

 

 

 

Anyway, Lee ‘Secretly Sweet, Lowkey Loving, Doesn’t Take No Shit From Nobody’ Chaerin turned out to be a singer with a powerful voice with good control. Less finesse, mostly potential, but it sounded great enough for fourteen-year-old Kwon Jiyong that he made her sing for him.

It helped that they were friends because, apparently, Chaerin just didn’t do shit for just anybody either.

“You owe me, Kwon,” she said as she was taking her leave, and really, Jiyong was getting used to being called by his last name.

He ushered her out quickly. “Yes, yes, I’ll buy you whatever you want if this gets Seungri to tell me he loves me.”

She slammed her hand by the door jam before Jiyong could shut it. The look in her eyes was infuriatingly pitying. “Hun, if you want that, all you gotta do is say ‘em words.”

“Goodbye, Chaerin,” dismissed the elder, rolling his eyes. “Thank you for all your hard work. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She clucked her tongue and turned away. Jiyong breathed.

She was probably right, he knew. But the words just got stuck in his throat whenever he tried and confessing really wasn’t as easy as he’d thought it would be.

 

 

 

“You want to sing me a song?” Seungri asked him from his bed mid-September of their last middle school year when Jiyong finally decided it was time.

“Yeah,” said Jiyong sheepishly as he set his phone up on Seungri’s speaker system. “I, uh, I wrote it for you.”

The younger shot up from the bed. “Shit, really?”

Jiyong loved Seungri, been trying to tell him for a year, but the pottymouth was something he could have done without. It was Song Mino and Park Jimin’s fault, he knew.

Seungri’s excitement merely made him all the more nervous. “Y-yeah, don’t expect too much, though.”

Seungri got off the bed and raced outside the room without any warning. He’d been wearing nothing but his white undershirt and school pants, and the elder couldn’t help but admire the development of his body. Jiyong’s wasn’t bad, not by anyone’s standards. His body was developing to that of a dancer’s, all lithe and sinewy, flexible and strong. But Seungri’s had a bit more muscle in them: athletic and although nothing like Mino’s or Minho’s, it still made Jiyong want to bite them to see how hard they really were when flexed.

It was because Seungri liked to eat while he was exercising, his father told him when he’d asked why their bodies were different.

The lines of Seungri shoulder and how beautiful they looked leading down to his waist had Jiyong pursing his lips because he has learned not to bite his lips especially when Chaerin caught him staring and wouldn’t stop teasing him about it.

The hormones were getting to him. Darn puberty.

Then Seungri came back racing in, yelling “I’m ready! I’m ready!”

He tripped on his own two feet and, as luck would have it, landed face first on Jiyong’s lap, hands flat on Jiyong’s thighs, and groaned.

It was too much. The coincidence of it all was almost funny if Jiyong hadn’t wanted to cry out of frustration and embarrassment. A familiar feeling pooled at the pit of his stomach when Seungri looked up, all innocent and angelic and practically announcing Jiyong’s doom and –

_Damn it, Kwon Jiyong, get a fucking grip._

And, okay, Chaerin might not have the cleanest mouth either.

With shaking hands, Jiyong helped the boy up and sighed. God, all he wanted was to confess to Seungri, get him to say he loved him back, be a couple, and finally have their first proper kiss. Jiyong wasn’t really asking for much. At least not yet, but that’s beside the point. He wanted to be the perfect gentleman for the baby girl.

“Seungri!” Lee Seonha bellowed. “Did you just drop my phone?!”

“N-no,” Seungri bellowed back, faux lightness and grace. He scrambled for the phone actually dropped on the floor and breathed a sigh of relief. “I just tripped, eomma! Your phone’s fine.”

Jiyong couldn’t help but slap Seungri’s bottom for the lie. “Bad boy!” he laughed. “What do you need the phone for anyway?”

Seungri grinned at him. “I wanted to record you singing for me.”

Jiyong’s heart dropped. “What?”

“It’ll be fun,” persuaded the younger. He made his way back to the bed, fiddling with the apps and pointing the camera toward the elder. “Ready?”

“Not really.”

“Shooting!”

Jiyong paused, looking at the phone a little helplessly. His throat was suddenly dry, his mind all the more blank.

Seungri called him, “Start with your name.”

Jiyong but his lip. “M-my name is Kwon Jiyong?” Seungri nodded. “I’m, uh… I’m fourteen… and I wrote this song for you.”

Jiyong paused, and continued bashfully, “I’ll be singing the chorus too, but in the original track, I had my classmate Chaerin sing it since I’m more of a rapper.” Seungri snickered. “Here goes.”

 

 

 

 

 

_Thing was, it wasn’t like Seungri didn’t know. He did, in fact, very much know because his friends could never keep their mouths shut and their insults to themselves when they tell him he’s being stupid and cruel and that he should just end Jiyong’s misery._

_But what they didn’t know was that there was turmoil within Seungri that told him that this wasn’t right, that boys shouldn’t be with boys, that boys were meant to be for girls._

_He never talked to anyone about it. If he did, his friends would have told him he should have nothing to worry about. If he did, his mother would have told him that he could love anyone but no one would love him like she did. If he did, he would have found out that no matter what, he would never be alone._

_But he didn’t talk to anyone._

_So he hadn’t known._

_But then,_

_He liked that Jiyong wrote a song for him. He liked that Jiyong was singing for him. He liked that Jiyong went through all the pains and even left his friends when it was for him._

_And he liked it when he called him baby. He liked it very much when Jiyong called him baby girl. It felt right being called a girl._

_Because girls were strong._

_Because his mother was immensely successful at her job when she had to raise a son all on her own. Because Jiyong’s mother was making a name for herself without the need of the Kwon family name. Because Dami was doing her own thing. Because Chaerin was braver than anyone else._

_Because women would someday rule the world because they are feared and followed by men if Jiyong and his father were anything to go by._

_(Because he was one, wasn’t he?)_

_So he thought he was a girl but he was actually a guy because that was what all his science teachers had told him. And they can’t be wrong. They shouldn’t be teaching in school if they were wrong._

_It was all too confusing and complicated and there were butterflies in his stomach as Jiyong sang for him and Seungri might have been falling._

_Drowning._

_Jiyong was too amazing to comprehend. Jiyong was everything._

_Seungri sometimes couldn’t help himself. Jiyong’s magic did something. And of course Seungri knew what Jiyong was trying to tell him, it made his heart flutter in a way inexplicable._

_He’s never loved anyone like he did his mother before. It felt more than how he felt for Minho or Mino or Sungmin or Jimin. It felt more than how he used to feel for Jiyong, so different that it had him grasping and gasping for straws and for air and just..._

_Jiyong was just so beautiful._

_His heart was just so weak._

_He was just so confused._

_But he just_ wanted _so much._

_Stay with me,_ Jiyong sang.

 

 

 

“You’re the best,” Seungri whispered.

The younger had stopped recording and laced his arms tight around the other’s neck and squished their cheeks together.

Jiyong burned from within; fire seeped through his skin in a pretty shade of red. Seungri has never pressed himself this close, not consciously, and Jiyong welcomed it all.

“You really are the best,” Seungri sighed into his ear, and though they were not the words Jiyong longed to hear, if Seungri thought that he was best, then them words were good enough.

 

 

 

 

 

And yet, at fourteen, Jiyong learned that some things weren’t meant to be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seungri held his hand.

Somehow, the darkness around him disappeared with the tiniest of smiles from the panda boy. Somehow, it all felt like everything was going to be all right.

Soyangho Lake, because even though they lived near, Jiyong has rarely been. Seungri had come with him and his mother to the trip to Seoul that Saturday morning, but as it proved fruitless, Jiyong made a request. He wanted to see the lake, he informed, and his mother was more than willing to oblige. She made the two boys wait for her by a safe railing as she went to fetch some food and drinks.

The air was damp and cold. It hadn’t been the first time he’s seen the lake, but the place was such a tourist attraction, it had lost its appeal to him. Then again, it was his first time there with Seungri and he could see that the boy was trying to contain his emotions if only for him.

Jiyong held his hand.

“It’s okay if you want to cry, hyung,” the sweet boy said. “You have to let it all out, right?”

Jiyong laughed. Strangely enough, he didn’t feel like crying.

“How are you, Ri?” Jiyong asked, voice sounding fragile and vulnerable even if he was feeling nothing but.

Seungri was taken aback. The wind blew, warm and thick. “How am – me? What? Hyung, you–”

Jiyong pulled him closer. “I’m fine,” he said, “how about you?”

Seungri took a few seconds before he slid closer to Jiyong. He pressed their arms together, no room between them in the crowded place.

“We have a game next Saturday morning,” Jiyong was told. “Semis. If we win, championship is next week. If we lose, battle for third.”

Jiyong pouted. “But I have dance.”

“It’s okay,” Seungri said, still a little sad. “But you have to be there when we win the whole thing.”

Jiyong laughed. That was his Seungri, confident and a dreamer. “Sure.”

The younger huffed and caught his lower lip between his teeth. Eyes downcast on the lake, he looked like he wanted to say more.

Jiyong didn’t need more; he was quite content at that moment, happy despite the defeat. Somehow, Seungri took it all from him when he didn’t have to. It made Jiyong’s chest beat in a different way: worried, sad, endeared, frustrated, and happy all at the same time.

He hung his arm over the shorter boy’s shoulders and called his name. “Don’t feel bad for me. I’m not sad, am I? Eomma did say I may not get it, that a lot of people are really talented, and that the idol business wasn’t kind. I’m good where I am right now.”

Jiyong turned his head towards Seungri. “Besides, Uni doesn’t seem so bad if it’s with you.”

Seungri sniffled. “But… but…”

Jiyong blinked.

“But you wanted it so bad! You worked so hard, Yongie! How could they?!” Seungri suddenly bawled, crying so hard the people started to turn to them. Jiyong held him close, partly out of embarrassment. “You should have gotten in! You worked so hard!”

Jiyong rubbed his back and rolled his eyes as Seungri dampened his collars with his drama. It wasn’t that Jiyong wasn’t touched – he was, he swore – but Seungri should be glad that he was fine, shouldn’t he?

Jiyong has actually thought about it. If he hadn’t failed, that would have meant he had less time to spend with Seungri, it meant that he’d have to see him less, it meant that they’d be farther away and Seungri would meet new people and Seungri was just so loveable Jiyong might get replaced.

So Jiyong was fine.

But Seungri wasn’t.

He wasn’t because he thought that this was Jiyong’s dream. He thought that this was what was going to make the elder happy. He thought that the rejection broke Jiyong’s heart as much as it did his.

Seungri.

Sweet, sweet Lee Seunghyun.

How could Jiyong not fall in love with him?

Seungri’s sobs quieted down, but Jiyong wanted to cry then too. He was so lucky to be close to Seungri, to have someone who cared as much as the panda boy did. Seungri was… he was just indescribable and the feelings Jiyong felt were so alien because he wasn’t supposed to be happy, not on that day.

But he was, all thanks to Seungri and Jiyong couldn’t stop himself from saying,

“I love you,” he whispered in the crowd, his voice blending with the hustle and bustle of tourism.

“I love you,” he murmured on the day SM Entertainment turned him down because he wasn’t good enough, because he just wasn’t what they were looking for.

“I love you,” Jiyong breathed.

 

 

_And Seungri pretended not to hear._

Jiyong hated to admit it but Minho was hot on the court. He swore.

He would never tell him.

He would never tell Seungri.

He would never tell anyone.

(He would slip one drinking session when he was twenty-one and he never _ever_ lived it down.)

So he didn’t admit it. He just kept it all to himself.

But, man, was Minho hot – and did he mention that his hormones were out of control?

Seungri and his team had won the semis and Jiyong had to sit there on the bleachers on their high school’s gym, stuck while he had to drool by himself because he never knew that basketball players could be this hot.

There was a fire that burned in them, Jiyong could tell. He has seen them play before, but it was different this time.

Maybe it had something to do with how this was their last middle school year, and how this was a Championship Mino, Minho, and Seungri worked hard for. Recruitment had been difficult for the team that year. When Sungmin graduated along with the third years, only four of them were left. Minho became team captain, and due to the large number of new members, Mino and Seungri were assigned co-captains.

Jimin being the only freshman the previous year had worked to their disadvantage. He’d been the only sophomore that year too. They were gearing him up to be the captain next year and the boy had a good cry about it.

But Minho… he was definitely different. Perhaps it was the pressure of being a captain. Perhaps it was just about winning the championships. Jiyong wasn’t sure, yet that didn’t change the fact that Minho was hot.

Seungri, though, his boy was amazing. Thing was, while Mino and Minho dominated the paint, and Jimin was a force by the wing always manned for his drives, Seungri was trained to be a playmaker, on the top and to see which of his teammates were best positioned. Jiyong had seen their development, and while it may not have been as remarkable if seen by a professional, Jiyong was impressed.

He has watched some of their trainings and games, and if he were honest, he thought that they all worked best when it were the five of them on the team. Sungmin graduating had definitely left a hole. (Seungri wouldn’t shut up about it. His boy was clingy like that.) And while Seungri wasn’t as good as the rest of them, his passes and eye for the free man and the right play had potential even he could see.

Seungri was quick and almost unnoticeable, letting his teammates shoot most of the points, claiming his own almost only when he was sure he could sink them. He hardly scored eight points per game, but his fundamentals must have been good because he was almost always a hundred percent.

(Jiyong might have listened to the coaches too intently, but he was just looking out for his heart.)

So it came no shock to Jiyong when the team won, even if Sungmin wasn’t there on the court but seated on the bench as a guest, even if some poor freshman tried to fill the gap, even if the game had been neck to neck all throughout. It came as absolutely no surprise, and Jiyong told Seungri so, when the boy had come running and embraced him in utter jubilation, all damp and high from adrenaline.

“Congratulations, baby,” Jiyong gushed. He laughed, happy that Seungri was happy. “At least one of us got what he wanted.”

Jiyong shouldn’t have; it had been a mistake. He didn’t mean to make the younger guilty. He wasn’t insecure at all, he wasn’t feeling horrible. He was honestly happy. But he should have known that Seungri would put Jiyong’s happiness before his own. Seungri was always generous when it came to him.

Unfortunately, Jiyong didn’t notice, judgement too clouded by his precious co-captain.

For that reason, Jiyong failed to understand what Seungri meant when the boy said, “Not if I can do anything about it.”

He fathomed it didn’t matter.

 

 

 

 

 

A few months felt like a few days as they flew Jiyong by. It was a peaceful lull, after the third years were allowed to no longer attend practices and Jiyong quit his dance classes after he got rejected.

He spent his time focusing on his rapping, because he wasn’t good enough for SME.

He spent his time focusing on his studies, because he wasn’t smart enough for the class’ upper half ranking.

He spent his time with Seungri, simply because he couldn’t get enough.

He kept falling and falling everyday, that once he accepted the truth of his love, he couldn’t stop. His feelings got stronger everyday, the want to be loved back uncontainable. He felt like he was about to burst with frustration out of Seungri’s density.

He swore that before graduation, Seungri would know.

 

 

 

 

 

Jiyong gaped. The mess in his room bothered him and made him want to clean, have Seungri do all the work because it had been his fault anyway.

Seungri dumped even more glitter to the mess of it and glue on the page. Jiyong’s hand stopped the monstrosity.

“I think that’s enough, Ri,” he said irritably, wondering how his boy could think that a mound of glitter on paper was a good idea.

“But, Ji,” said Seungri, unconsciously letting go of the _hyung_. No one really called Jiyong _hyung_ , and the elder didn’t mind it. Somehow, it felt more… intimate?

Seungri sneezed, blowing a cloud of glitter on Jiyong’s face. The latter growled and snatched the particles of death in a tiny cylinder away.

“See?!” he scolded. “You stop when I tell you to stop, got that?”

Seungri giggled. “You look pretty.”

Jiyong blushed.

Seungri’s chubby fingers reached towards his cheeks, where the glitters got stuck, and Jiyong snapped.

“Yah!” he yelled, slapping the younger’s sticky, glue-covered hands away.

“You’re just jealous my portfolio will turn out prettier than yours,” laughed the panda boy.

He wasn’t. Really, Jiyong wasn’t. They were made to create a portfolio for each of their classes, a collection of all their works, quizzes, and exams as a requirement for clearance.

Jiyong knew they were supposed to make it look _pretty,_ but Seungri’s was just too much. There was glitter everywhere: his hair, his face, his arms, his legs, the back of his knees. Seungri’s black shirt looked like a disco ball for goodness sake.

Where Jiyong’s work was simple, neat, and efficient, Seungri’s looked like it had been dumped in a bucket of glitter, bombed with frills and lace, and eaten by a pink furry monster who spat it back out after indigestion. Jiyong blamed eomonim for getting his boy _all_ the scrapbooking shit he fancied.

_Shit, it was a disaster._

“Want me to do yours too?” the shorter boy offered, to which Jiyong answered with a vehement refusal and clutched his portfolios protectively to his chest.

He got up quickly, grabbing his bag as he fled from his room. Seungri mocked him with an obnoxious laugh. He needed to leave, he couldn’t take the train wreck that was Seungri’s work. Neither did he want his work to be contaminated.

Jiyong plopped heavily on the living room couch and sighed. So long as none of the glitters got on his pristine dark blue sheets, he was fine. He was absolutely going to make Seungri clean up his mess later.

 

 

 

He was watching a random music channel when his mother came in.

“Yongie,” she called, giving her teenage boy a pat on the head. “I made some pancakes. Want any?”

He hummed absentmindedly. “Maybe later,” he said as an afterthought. “I’ll eat with Seungri.”

She rolled her eyes. “That boy makes better pancakes than I do,” she commented, remembering a time ago when he _demanded_ that she put cinnamon in the flour mix and cooked them all into perfect fluffy round pieces. “He used to tell me my pancakes were the best.”

“He still tells you that.”

“He just says it, but he doesn’t mean it.”

Jiyong turned and raised his eyebrow at her. “Seungri doesn’t lie, eomma. Little white lies that he can’t even hide, but you know.”

She chuckled, bent over the back of the couch to give Jiyong’s nose a tap. “Any progress yet?” she asked with a wink and the boy had a feeling this was her goal all along.

He turned back around. “Eomma,” he whined, “stop.”

The woman was embarrassing. Ever since Seungri’s mom told his mom about his not-so-little crush, the two couldn’t stop gushing over him. He did only make eomonim promise not to tell Seungri. He was lucky he didn’t get heat from not telling his own mother.

“Oh, come on now,” she urged as she joined him on the couch. She held his hands between hers. “It’s been a year and you still hadn’t told him.”

“I tried!”

“If he didn’t hear you, it doesn’t count.”

Jiyong huffed. “I just need better timing.”

“You’re graduating in two weeks,” she said, reminding him of the promise he made himself. “You’re running out of time.”

He pushed her away. “I can’t talk about this. This is too much. I need pancakes for this,” he said, sounding remarkably like his father when he said the same words but with alcohol.

The woman giggled. Her embarrassed and pressured son was too cute.

 

 

 

_Meanwhile, Seungri backed away from the staircase, back to Jiyong’s room where he decided that it was best to clean up and forget he heard anything._

_Maybe he could go home instead of staying over._

The dark thoughts in Jiyong’s head began when he was thirteen, more than a year since he has harbored his feeling for Lee Seunghyun.

He wasn’t that innocent of a child. He listened to rap songs about sex and drugs and money and guns. He listened to Mino when he told her how soft the high school student he fucked was. He listened to Chaerin how good her first time with a boy was. He listened to her how better her first time with a girl was.

He had seen Eunhyuk take a drag of cancer from a stick. He heard Taeyeon tell about how her older brother smoked something else.

He’d watched his ex-dance troupe practice hungover. He has watched some of them teach him while they were drunk.

He never told Seungri about the time just a few months ago, Nana slipped him a pair of her panties.

Jiyong threw it in the trash.

There was a futon laid on the floor, but he didn’t want them to sleep separate. He wanted to lay next to Seungri, even if it meant that they had to make do with Jiyong’s bed. Better since it meant that they had to sleep so close together.

Seungri was unfazed, used to being squished by the other, held so close and enveloped with warmth only the elder could provide. Yet it wasn’t the same for Jiyong.

Jiyong was guilty for taking advantage of Seungri, holding him close and feeling him against him as the younger was innocently unaware. Still, he wanted more.

He longed for more, as if he was never given enough.

There was something peculiar about the night that made him feel so dark, that made the darkest desires of his heart rear its ugly face and take control. He thought that it was the moon, triggered like a werewolf that lurked under its light. Or perhaps it was the air: cold and refreshing, cleansing him of all his pretences until all that was left was his dirty core.

Probably it was both. There was always something about the way the moonlight shined on Seungri’s skin, making it glow ethereal, pure – pearl and pink – bright as against the dark of his lashes and perfect around his lips. The air was always a good friend, relaxing them both, balancing their heat with its cold and giving Jiyong air when his feelings were too suffocating, when Seungri’s beauty was too much it took all of his breath away.

Without a doubt, Seungri was radiant in the morning, but he was a murderous at night.

Jiyong licked his lips.

Seungri was sleeping so close, so peacefully, with his mouth opened the slightest. Inviting, and Jiyong would have been a fool if he were to say no, he leaned in. He captured Seungri’s lips between his. Eyes closed, all he could feel was softness and the blow of steady breath.

Then it stopped.

And Jiyong opened his eyes to see Seungri staring back at him, a look of terror and surprise and confusion.

“I’m sorry,” Jiyong bolted, pulling back and terribly aware of the wrong that he has done. “I’m sorry.”

The younger scurried away, racing to the light switch to turn it on. Jiyong flinched against the light, feeling exposed, vulnerable, and raw. His heart was beating like crazy. His stomach started churning from the guilt.

Seungri stared at him with eyes neither blank nor filled with an emotion Jiyong has seen him in before. His chest heaved harshly, the sides of his mouth pulled down in what must have been agitation.

“Seungri, I–” Jiyong was about to say when the younger made a move. He snatched his bag from the floor and fluidly opened the door.

Jiyong was about to explain when Seungri walked out of his room and, Jiyong thought, out of his life.

 

 

 

 

 

The next two weeks were hell, horrible horrible hell.

Jiyong tried – and cried at night – to ask for Seungri’s forgiveness, to say how wrong he was for taking advantage, to grovel for his boy to at least stop avoiding him.

Because Seungri had, for the past two weeks.

The last official school day was spent for clearance. Students roamed around the campus, free to do whatever they wanted so long as they’ve completed their slip by the end of the day. Jiyong had searched for Seungri high and low. In the end, he came home with nothing (but an announcement that he was all set to graduate).

He tried calling but Seungri wouldn’t talk to him. He visited his home, but eomonim told him that the younger was staying over at Minho’s or Mino’s or Jimin’s. The few times that Jiyong did catch Seungri at home, he wouldn’t leave his room, no matter how much Jiyong or his mother tried to persuade him.

Chaerin sighed at him when he called her. “You should have just told him.”

Minho scowled at him when they saw each other at school. “You should have just told him.”

Mino laughed at him when he had the chance. “You really should have just.”

It sucked that Seungri avoided him, grated his nerves and cracked his bones, but he knew that Seungri couldn’t avoid graduation.

And he was right.

Dressed in a light blue button down tucked into a pair of smart pants, Seungri looked like he hadn’t much sleep. He was standing beside his mother as they waited for instructions for the start of the graduation.

Jiyong pulled at his mother’s hand. “There’s Seungri,” he said.

She pushed him by the small of his back. “Let’s go greet him, then.”

Jiyong was nervous. He’d feel awful if he saw with his own two eyes Seungri walking away from him again. Once was enough and it still burned a hole into his heart, the feeling so clear even if the memory has faded.

He pulled lightly at the sleeve of Seungri’s elbow and watched as he turned slowly.

“Jiyong,” he breathed, and the sound made the elder’s heart give a little flutter.

“Hi,” Jiyong smiled tentatively. For all intents and purposes, Seungri didn’t look like he was about to flee. Jiyong felt relieved. He bowed to the woman beside his boy. “Good morning, eomonim.”

She caressed his cheek. “Good morning.”

That seemed to snap Seungri to attention. “Ah! Auntie,” he gasped, and then followed with a quick bow. “I’m so sorry! Good morning!”

The two mothers laughed. “Good morning to you too, Seunghyun-ah,” said Jiyong’s mother.

Lee Seonha pulled at Mrs. Kwon’s arm with a look. “Come, Gaeul, the boys have something to talk about.”

“Oh?” she went. On Seonha’s persistence she realized. “Oh.”

They giggled away.

Jiyong was smart. _Things must be looking up._

“Seungri, I –” Jiyong began, but Seungri didn’t let him.

The younger boy had smiled so widely it wiped all of Jiyong’s fears and pain away. “I have a surprise for you!”

Jiyong breathed. He couldn’t understand how Seungri was so happy when he didn’t talk to him for a whole two weeks.

Then again, Jiyong pondered if it mattered any.

“What is it?” he asked, figuring that maybe it didn’t. It was possible Seungri just didn’t want to talk about it, maybe he simply wanted to forget the whole thing. Jiyong could live with that, if it meant no more of his boy’s severe silent treatments.

Seungri handed him a crumpled envelope from his pocket.

Jiyong’s eyes widened. _YG Entertainment_ was stamped at the back.

“Ri, what?”

The younger chuckled. “Go on,” he urged. “Open it.”

Jiyong ripped the paper open and pulled out the single-paged letter inside.

 

 _Good day, Mr. Kwon!,_ it read.

_Congratulations! We, here at YG Entertainment, are thrilled to inform you that we have seen your audition video and are very much impressed. We would like to invite you to join our trainee program. The song you wrote had left quite an impression and the future of the music industry could use a talent as bright and creative as yours._

_The YG Family believes that there is more to the idol world than mere singing and dancing. It’s also about writing songs that connect people, string experiences, and brings forth emotion. We would be honored to be able to hone such talents with you._

_Not just you, but we would also like to meet the Ms. Lee Chaerin that sang the chorus of the song. If she is of your same age as you said she was, then we believe that she also holds great potential._

_As such, our President, Mr. Yang Hyunsuk, would personally like to meet with you. If you are willing –_

And Jiyong couldn’t read anymore because tears were clouding his vision. The tears he failed to shed when he got rejected by SM surfaced, pulling something painful from the depths of his heart, pulled so unexpectedly damning.

Arms wound around his shoulders and he choked a sob. His own fingers clutched behind Seungri as he struggled to breathed, struggled with all the pent up emotion he didn’t know he kept.

“They want you to come in for an actual audition,” Seungri told him gently, once he has calmed down, “if only for formalities sake.”

“Seungri, I…” Jiyong hiccupped. “What?”

The younger pulled away to shrug. “I sent them a letter with a flash drive containing the video and the song. When we won the Championships, I wanted you to be as happy, right? So I had them sent to other music companies. YG was the first reply, and the biggest one.”

“You mean there were others that said yes?” gasped the elder.

Seungri laughed. “Yep. BigHit and JYP. But I like YG. They have Psy.”

Leave it to Seungri to have ulterior motives. Also leave it to him to stan the idol who sang about mothers, fathers, and gentlemen.

“YG it is, then,” Jiyong smiled. “I at least owe you that much.”

Seungri pouted. “No, you owe me more.”

 _Everything_ , Jiyong wanted to say. But he just got the younger back. He was still wary. “Really?” he laughed. “What do I owe you?”

 

“I want a kiss,” Seungri said.

 

Jiyong’s heart skipped a beat.

 

Seungri was serious. “I want my first kiss back.”

 

“What?”

 

“I love you too.”


	12. Chapter 12

High School was a shell shock.

Seungri’s first year threw him so far off the loop he has never remembered the year with fondness.

It started right after graduation, when a lot of things began to change.

Jiyong’s and Chaerin’s acceptance into YG Entertainment had taken more of Jiyong’s time than Seungri was prepared for. The elder stayed at their dorm in Seoul during most of the week, and came back home so very rarely. Seungri thought that he was never more deprived.

He’d been sitting on Jiyong’s bed, back against Jiyong’s chest, between the elder’s chest, during one of those once-in-a-lifetime days. They were propped against the headboard as the most recent Marvel movie played on Jiyong’s laptop before them.

Seungri brought a homemade bit-sized cookie against Jiyong’s lips.

The older sighed. “Riri,” he groaned, the nickname affecting the athlete in the most peculiar way. “You know I can’t.”

“But, Ji,” he insisted, squirming dangerously. Jiyong held his hips away. “I made them for you.”

Jiyong rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why. You know I have to diet.”

“Which is a crime. You’re skinny already and you need the energy to dance and to sing and to compose.”

Jiyong sighed again.

“Please?”Seungri insisted. “Just one.”

The older opened his mouth and took in Seungri’s fingers with the biscuit and sucked. If he had to disobey company rules, then he was going to taste more than the damn cookie.

Seungri let him, already used to Jiyong’s rather disgusting tendencies. He wiped his saliva-coated fingers on Jiyong’s shorts.

Jiyong moaned. Seungri smirked.

“Good right?” the younger needlessly asked, smug looking good on his pretty face.

The chocolatey goodness melted in Jiyong’s mouth, making him mindlessly grab for more.

“I’ve been practicing my baking,” Seungri had informed him. “Dongwon had been supplying me with all I want.”

Jiyong snickered. “How are things with them anyway?”

“Well,” Seungri breathed, lying back on Jiyong’s chest as he played with the hand that wasn’t filled with cookies. “Actually, well enough.”

Kim Dongwon was the man Seungri’s mother was dating. And her boss. Although he hated him at first, Seungri figured that he should at least give the guy a chance since he made his mother happy the way Jiyong made him happy. It had only been a recent development, the boy had to say, but the man was eager to please. A little less than a month ago when the boy himself had his mother invite her boyfriend over so he could cook dinner for the three of them, he realized that the man wasn’t too bad. Although, the new set of measuring spoons, a ceramic skillet, and a promise of shop-til-you-drop groceries was a definite seller.

It had been a dream for the boy with nothing to do in the summer but basketball practice – allowing him to experiment with all kinds of food, even though he failed most of the time he thought of something new (thankfully, Mino wolfed down anything he made).

“You only like him for his money,” Jiyong accused.

Seungri merely shrugged. Dongwon owned a goddamn company. He didn’t see the point of not taking advantage of that.

“He wanted to please me,” Seungri said. “So I let myself be pleased. We have a good relationship.”

Jiyong laughed. “We do too! Are you saying you’re only with me for my money?”

“What money?” Seungri sassed, stuffing his face with the cookies he was immensely proud of. “You don’t have money.”

Jiyong pushed him playfully. “I will, though. Just you wait. When I debut, I’ll be able to buy you anything you want.”

Seungri smiled at him sweetly. “I knew I loved you for a reason.”

Jiyong pinched his nose playfully, making the younger laugh. The movie was unattended, but they couldn’t really care less. They haven’t seen each other for more than a week.

Their laughter filled the room and out Jiyong’s opened door. They were young. Now that they were ‘official,’ none of their parents allowed them to close the door whenever they’re in the same room, which was ridiculous in Seungri’s opinion because the older’s room was air-conditioned.

So the rule was amended. Locked doors were thereafter prohibited, since none of the grown-ups really wanted to talk to the seemingly innocent boys about the birds and the bees.

“I miss you everyday,” Seungri confessed, pressing himself impossibly closer, refusing to turn to his boyfriend from embarrassment.

Jiyong chuckled. Seungri’s adorableness knew no bounds; he would never tire of it. He wrapped his arms around his boy’s waist. Never mind the crumbs. Never mind the ants. He hadn’t met him in so long; he was entitled to this deep happiness.

Then Jiyong’s father came in to tell them to break it up and to give them two glasses of milk. They could have been six years old and he still would have treated them the same.

 

 

 

 

 

Years down the line, Seungri would wonder how Jiyong was able to make the kind of deal he had with Hyunsuk-hyung, but to his thirteen-year-old mind, all that mattered was that his boyfriend still went to the same high school as him.

They’d walked in together hand-in-hand. The older had been insistent, affectionate and proud of whatever they had. While Seungri wasn’t per se, the unwanted attention made him uncomfortable. The surprised and scandalized eyes of the high school community had him shaking off Jiyong’s hand.

Jiyong snickered it off. Seungri had always been shy in terms of public displays of affection.

It had all been bright and sunny in the beginning, but as the months passed, the looks never left him, and for the first time, Seungri found out about the true horrors of being bullied.

 

 

 

High School was far from how he imagined it would be. It was bigger than his middle school, with a varsity team for almost every sport and a club for almost everything. He got into a school that was by no means small; it had to be since the next one was so far away. Really, Seungri, Jiyong, Mino, Minho, and eventually Jimin getting into the same school was more of a statistic than luck.

Seungri had been looking forward to spending time with them, but that hadn’t quite worked out.

Mino had taken his bad boy image to the next level and became ‘mysterious.’ Seungri rolled his eyes at him because the boy still knocked on his door during the odd days he demanded Seungri to cook him something. Mino was even the one who had perfect attendance in all their basketball practices. Outside that, Seungri rarely saw him.

Minho, on the other hand, had taken to hanging with all the hyungs he developed a liking to. Seungri could barely remember their names – there were too many – but the shorter couldn’t really blame him. Seungri was nothing compared to those hyungs. Besides, whenever Mino came to visit, all Seungri had to do was give Minho a call so he could come over, along with Jimin because they couldn’t really leave their maknae behind.

(Sometimes, they’d ring Sungmin who had to move all the way over to Seoul. Always, they’d make him jealous of all the fun they had.)

Thing was, besides basketball practice and those spontaneous moments, Seungri’s only salvation was Jiyong.

Poor Jiyongie: he had to travel to and fro school for an hour everyday just so he could train in YG. He’d study during the hour he spent on the train to Chuncheon. He’d think of songs during the hour he spent on the train back to Seoul. His first break was spent asleep. His lunch break was usually spent cramming for his other classes. More often, Jiyong would forget to eat or even bring enough money for food.

So Seungri took it upon himself to feed Jiyong. It was no hassle; he’d been preparing food for himself since middle school, and he has long since learned to pack more for himself because four more paws tended to take what was his.

Seungri’s mom had no qualms in it; Jiyong was practically her son anyway.

But one day, after class, when he had no practice, Seungri realized that he had no other friends.

Before he could even get past the school gates, he was pulled at the collar. Forcefully led to an already empty classroom, he was cornered by three third years. One of them took his bag and cluttered all its contents on a table. He grabbed the lunchbox and shook it.

“Empty,” he informed his leader, and the most foreboding guy snarled.

“What did we tell you, bitch?” he smoothed out menacingly as his hand shot to Seungri’s neck. Jackson, his name was, like the Michael but not the baller.

Seungri swallowed around the thumb that pressed on his Adam’s apple. He cursed the day this all started – the day their English teacher told them of their project:

They were supposed to dress-up and make a monologue as a character from Greek mythology. Jiyong had whispered that he wanted to be Cupid. Seungri announced that he wanted to be Psyche.

The class laughed because he wanted to play a _girl_. The teacher refused because he _wasn’t_ a girl. Seungri made the mistake of insisting that _he_ _was_. It could have gotten messy if Jiyong hadn’t told him to pick someone else instead. He picked Persephone, and only after did he get that it wasn’t about the character and all about the gender. (He ended up resigning himself to play Achilles because, _hello_ , _Brad Pitt._ )

Word had gotten around. And as if that wasn’t enough, he had to be his clumsy self and accidentally throw the basketball at Jackson’s head while he was roaming around campus. It had all gone downhill from there.

 

 

 

“Always leave you food,” Seungri wheezed, all the fight flew away from instant fear.

Jackson smirked. He threw the boy away violently into the neatly lined tables and chairs.

“I’m having a good day,” the bully said, “so I’ll let this one go. Make sure it doesn’t happen again, _Seungri-ah._ ”

They heckled mockingly as they shut the door and lights on Seungri, leaving the boy on the ground with a terrible bruise on the side of his thigh.

It sucked, Seungri thought as he haphazardly bagged all his things, because that never happened when Jiyong was around; no one would dare bully a Seoul lawyer’s son.

And it wasn’t like Seungri could tell him. Jiyong was busy enough as it was.

 

 

 

First year was also the first time Seungri felt an intense sort of jealousy. That is, it was then that he met Jiyong’s _friend_.

Seungri liked Chaerin. Chaerin was the sister he wished he had. But Jiyong barely saw her despite getting into the same company. She was being trained with three other girls.

Jiyong was training to become part of a duo with some guy named _Dong Youngbae._

And Seungri couldn’t understand how someone with _Dong_ in their name could be anywhere near good.

Apparently, he was a pure, kindhearted Christian kid who liked to play pranks on his spare time. He was a good singer. He was a great dancer. And thank God Jiyong took those lessons or else he wouldn’t be able to keep up. He was also so darnfully cute when he smiled because his eyes would turn into slits.

Seungri hated him.

Jiyong hadn’t actually said it like that. His words were more… superfluous and in the excess. Seungri had to make a summary of his own because the older boy just wouldn’t _shut up about him_.

“Don’t speak when your mouth is full, Jiyong,” he said through gritted teeth as he spectacularly failed to hide his vehemence.

Not that Jiyong noticed.

It was supposed to be one of his good days – a Friday, even – when he woke up on the right side of the bed with a quiet breakfast with his mother where she told him how happy she was with her love and work, and proud of her little boy. He’d heard that Jackson was absent that day so he didn’t have to worry about anything. He, Minho, and Mino were also sleeping over at Jimin’s just because they can. The sun was bright, the wind was cool, the day was supposed to be good.

Seungri hated it.

Jiyong swallowed around the kimbap Seungri had painstakingly prepared for him and beamed. “I finally got a picture with him,” he said. “Look!”

Jiyong pulled out his phone from the back pocket of his pants.

Seungri sighed. He wanted to scream. He was glad that his boyfriend had friends. Really, after the whole Nana et. al. fiasco, he knew Jiyong was more wary of the people he deemed as friends. The boy practically spent their last year either glued to Seungri or Chaerin, who was more of a loner because the other kids just couldn’t handle her lever of independence.

But the thing with the young bae was getting out of hand. Jiyong was so shy to even get a picture. It almost seemed like he was… infatuated.

Seungri really really wanted to scream and let his frustration bounce against the walls of the empty gymnasium. He has always regarded the basketball as his third home – after his own and the Kwon’s – but whatever relaxation the air used to bring him just couldn’t cut it.

Maybe if he punched someone’s face in, he’d feel better. Mino’s tough. He wondered if the wider boy would let him.

(He might have been a little rougher at training later that day. The coach had no problem about it. Mino was more than a bit proud when he was able to out box one of the upper class big men.)

“See?” said Jiyong, snapping him out of his rage-fueled trance. “Cute, aren’t we?”

Seungri pursed his lips and tried to breathe.

_Of course he had to be._

“He’s all right,” Seungri squeezed from his complaining throat.

And it must have came out weaker than he thought because Jiyong flashed him worried eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Seungri answered. It wasn’t a lie. There was nothing wrong with Jiyong getting a new friend.

Never mind that it wasn’t the complete truth.

The younger forced out a smile. “Have they been treating you well?” he countered, for despite all of Jiyong’s stories about Youngbae, he barely had any on his actual training.

Jiyong gave him a strained smile of his own, and Seungri’s stomach plunged.

_How could he be so selfish?_

“I’m going to be honest, Seungri,” Jiyong began. “It’s not easy. I get yelled at everyday and I feel as though it’s all useless sometimes. But you’re here for me. And having a friend makes it a little better.”

How could Seungri be so selfish to forget that he wasn’t the only one having a hard time.

At least Seungri still had his mother. At least he still had his team.

Jiyong had to brave Seoul by himself. He had to face his hardships all by himself.

“That’s right,” Seungri replied, because he would always be there for Jiyong.

 

Two days later, he had Jiyong bring Youngbae a box of cookies and a thank you note for taking care of his Jiyongie while he couldn’t.

 

 

 

He was miserable. Even though matters at home were better, matters at school became so much worse.

Jiyong never noticed. They were so preoccupied with each other whenever they were together. But when the elder was gone, Seungri could feel the mocking stares and insulting whispers everyone threw at him. It silenced his talkativeness. It made a loner out of the social boy.

He tried. He promised he did. Yet his efforts were useless to a crowd who refused to give him a chance.

So he stayed secluded. He stayed quiet. He settled for a boring routine.

When Jiyong wasn’t around, he snuck into the basketball court, which was always empty during breaks. He would hurry home whenever he didn’t have training. Home was always safe.

He never told Minho or Mino. He didn’t see them enough as it were. Besides, he shouldn’t be too selfish to burden them with his troubles. They must be struggling with their own as well. He shouldn’t be too selfish.

It must have been a hardship to hang out with him, since nobody else wanted to. He should be thankful they did when they did.

So there he was, alone in the school gymnasium, practicing his shooting and dribbling. It was a calming lull, different from how cooking made him feel. The rhythmic bounce of the ball was hypnotizing, the swish of the net satisfying as he made his shots.

He should have known the silence wouldn’t last.

“There you are,” a voice suddenly sounded. A shiver ran up Seungri’s spine.

He froze. The ball bounced on the ring and onto the rubber floor. It rolled to a pair of feet, belonging to the boy he hated.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” said Jackson. He picked up the ball with his feet, easily kicking it into his hands.

He was alone that time, school uniform opened to reveal smooth skin and toned muscles underneath a thin shirt. A backpack hung loosely on one of his shoulders.

If Seungri knew better, he’d figure the guy was forming an unhealthy obsession. If Seungri knew better, he’d find out he was getting prettier everyday – in a sick way.

“You’re good,” he continued, the praise sounding foul from his tongue. Seungri wanted to bolt. He wanted to leave but his feet wouldn’t move. Seungri was paralyzed. “How about we play a game? Winner makes the loser do something. What do you say?”

Jackson’s scent came before he did. He smelled like musk, sultry and sharp, handsome and clean. It made Seungri want to puke. The thick arm around his neck was too intimate, Jackson’s hand daring to clutch inside his shirt, palm completely on the juncture connecting to his shoulder.

Seungri whimpered. “N-no,” he was able to verbalize. He didn’t want to. Expletives crowded his head but none made it out, too caught by the fear of being alone with the other boy. Jackson has never done anything too drastic before, but he has had small bruises, almost every time they’d had a run in, reminding him without fail just what the bully could do to him.

The taller boy laughed. “Ah, it wasn’t really a choice though.” He pulled Seungri closer. Seungri trembled harder. Jackson smirked. “Oh, you’re shaking,” he mocked. “Are you afraid of me, Little Riri?”

He was. He so fucking was and he just wanted to go home and he didn’t know why he was so goddamn afraid. Months if threats and constant physical pain was probably the reason, maybe it was just Jackson.

“You know what that means, right?” the bully asked him and Seungri shook his head. “It means I win by default and you...” he swivelled Seungri around, manhandling him like he weighed nothing more than a pancake. “You have to do whatever I want.”

Seungri was pushed. There were shower rooms at the end of the gym, there for the benefit of the school athletes.

They’d been at this for months. Seungri had been getting bullied for months and it was like Jackson had already conditioned him to quake in fear whenever he was around, to follow his every command if he wanted to go home with only minor bruises. But when he was pushed against the tall lockers with a command he couldn’t follow, he was so terrified he could hear his harsh breaths echo against the tiled walls of the men’s locker room.

"Did you not hear me?" Jackson dangerously growled. "Are you deaf? I said strip!"

Seungri’s insides were burning, hurting in a confusion of protest because he didn’t want to but the prospect of disobeying Jackson was as horrendous. It wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be treated like this. He should be able to stand up for himself. But the fear always got to him first. The fear clawed all over his chest, gutted him useless and powerless.

Jackson was more than him in all ways: bigger, stronger, faster, smarter. There was no way. He had no chance.

But he still couldn’t do it. He couldn’t.

He rea-

And Jackson’s hand shot to him, grabbed him violently by the neck that had Seungri choking and reeling from the pain of having his head slam back against the cold metal lockers. Something pulled harshly at his shirt and he heard his buttons pop, drop against the floor, and his school uniform slipped from his shoulders.

"No!" he desperately cried. He kicked his feet willing to hit Jackson somewhere – anywhere – just to get him away. But the other simply laughed, amused at his futile struggling, made weak by his immense terror.

"Relax, Seunghyun-ah," he mocked. "I’m here to help you."

His thick hands pulled at Seungri’s pants, easily popping the button despite how unruly Seungri was. The younger struggled; he flailed his limbs here and there, balled his fists and punched at the soccer player.

He was pushed to the ground, scolded at to stop being a pest. The button of his pants got lose, and almost too easily, the piece of clothing was stripped away, pulled from his legs that failed to fill them up like they used to.

Seungri quaked, naked if not for his underclothes, too vulnerable to have the bigger boy’s eyes on him. He crumpled; his knees went up to his chest and he locked his hold around them – a weak shield against the other.

Then Jackson smirked, threw him the bag slung over his shoulder. He collected Seungri’s ruined uniform on the floor and started to head out. "I’ll be waiting outside," he said over his shoulder. "Better don’t take long."

The floor was cold against his side. His eyes pricked with the pain of tears. His heart raced with the unrelenting fear. He didn’t want Jackson back in there. He didn’t want to be in an enclosed space again with him. He didn’t want to aggravate whatever had just happened.

So he moved, seized for the bag. Inside was another set of their school’s uniform.

A girl’s.

His heart dropped.

Did he... was he supposed to wear it? It wasn’t like he had any other choice. It was decent enough anyway. (And he has always wanted to try.)

But he shouldn’t, should he?

He was still a boy, no matter how much his mind told him otherwise, no matter how much his heart fluttered at the excitement.

Jackson would hurt him if he didn’t, so he should, shouldn’t he?

He should.

_I should._

Seungri immaculately slipped on the uniform. Skirt first, then blouse. When his eyes flickered to the mirror, his breath caught. His veins thrummed because he’s never done this outside his mother’s room before. It felt like second skin as much as his basketball uniform.

He wanted to thank Jackson.

It was so... wrong

"Well, aren’t you pretty?" Jackson said reverently, from the doorway of the locker room. He had a hand in his pocket and Seungri’s uniform folded neatly in the other. There was something different in his smile, something kind, and he wasn’t invading Seungri’s space so violently.

Seungri blushed. Seungri stuttered, "W-what is this for?" He clutched the ends of the white shirt.

It must have been for something. Jackson may have wanted to leave him alone like that, make him go home in either that or nothing. Or maybe Jackson wanted a picture for blackmail. Or maybe he would drag him to his classroom so that he could humiliate him, make his classmates degrade him even more.

But Jackson shrugged, gently placed his uniform on the bathroom counter, maintaining a safe distance between them.

Seungri felt so out of place, so out of tune with how un-harassing Jackson was acting. It would be impossible to have turned a new leaf as quick as a snap of his fingers, wouldn’t it?

"You really are pretty," he repeated, before he left Seungri breathless and blushing.

 

 

 

 

 

“What are you doing?!”

Jiyong startled. He threw the lit white stick into the toilet and flushed, smoke burning in his lungs.

Seungri stared at him. He inevitably exhaled.

“You’re smoking?” Seungri accused, betrayal and disappointment on his face.

Jiyong clutched the fabric of his shirt and laughed. “Shit, Seungri,” he exhaled, willing the anxiety off his chest. “I thought you were a prof or something.”

The younger felt uncomfortable. He didn’t understand how getting caught by him didn’t bother his boyfriend at all.

“What’s up?” Jiyong smiled, failing to make Seungri’s heart lighter. The trainee took too long when he’d said he had to make a quick run to the bathroom.

Seungri gaped. “You’re smoking?” he repeated, voice high and squeaky.

“Haven’t I told you?” Jiyong tried to play off. He strode to the sink and washed the smell of cigarettes off his hands.

Seungri didn’t know what to answer to that. Jiyong clearly neglected to tell him. Deliberate, he was sure. But it wasn’t like his permission was needed. Nor was it his business that Jiyong smoked.

_Right?_

But Jiyong could have told him in the least.

“Since when?” he gulped. The uneasiness of not being important enough to be told stuck in his throat.

Seungri stared at Jiyong’s back, watched as it dawned on him how thinner the boy was, masculine and effeminate at the same time, mature and beautiful at fifteen.

Seungri felt like the useless thirteen-year-old who knew nothing.

“About two months,” was Jiyong’s confession. The hunch of his shoulders talked of his shame. The refusal to turn talked of his stubbornness. “You wouldn’t understand,” he continued before Seungri could say anything, before he even had the chance. He strutted to the bathroom door, letting it slam behind him.

Seungri had no idea what just happened, what triggered Jiyong and made him mad. He had just asked a question, hadn’t he? Surely, there was nothing wrong with that?

Jiyong was probably right. He could never understand the stress training brought him, enough to warrant a quick puff inhaled secretly in the boys’ bathroom. All Seungri did was pack enough food for the both of them anyway, with the occasional homework and extra copy of notes. He even made sure never to bother Jiyong with any of his problems.

He was trying his best.

So why did he always felt like crying?

 

 

 

Seungri couldn’t take it. He never mentioned it again. He tried talking to him again, but the awkwardness and the coldness was unwarranted. It has been a week.

_What in fucking hell did he do?_

Jiyong didn’t go to class that Monday. Nor did he come last Friday. And it wasn’t like he made and effort to contact Seungri at all over the weekend.

It boiled Seungri’s blood frozen.

He dialed Jiyong’s number, unable to resist and ready to apologize for anything if it got them okay again. The first of December just dropped and the weather was too cold. He didn’t want to spend his birthday and Christmas season heartbroken.

The call was picked up. It wasn’t Jiyong.

“ _Hello?_ ” a guy said in greeting.

“J-jiyong?” flustered Seungri, despite fully knowing well that it wasn’t.

“ _Ah, the boyfriend. This is Youngbae,”_ introduced Youngbae easily, “ _Well, Jiyong is talking with Yang-sajangnim right now. Got caught getting high, you know?”_

The floor dropped from Seungri’s feet and he wasn’t sure if he’d heard that correctly. His mind blanked. “What did you say?”

Seungri heard the other curse under his breath. “ _Shit, I’m so sorry,_ ” he plead. “ _Was I not supposed to say that? You didn’t know? I just thought you knew ‘cause Jiyong said you guys talk about everything. I’m–”_

Seungri heard nothing more in a firm refusal to stay on the line. He’d pressed the end call button and turned off his phone. He hasn’t had dinner yet and the last thing he ate was a bitter bite from lunch before trying to make it through training with a ton of water.

He wasn’t hungry anyway. His stomach was filled with something hotter than fire and colder than ice.

 

 

 

His turning fourteen was a little bittersweet. The days passed by slowly and he felt like he’d slugged through every day withering. Looking back, perhaps it was jut the woes of teenage angst. Perhaps the feelings he had were legitimate and valid.

But he had remembered that birthday with relative clarity for three reasons:

One,

Jiyong was warm to him again. The boy had invited his family over for an early Christmas dinner that Friday. Everyone, even Dongwon, was available. They couldn’t miss the rare opportunity.

Jiyong had pulled him to his room, handed him a paper bag and smiled. “Happy Birthday,” he kindly said.

Inside was a lavender sweater, the front decaled with patterns in black shaped into the symbol of peace. Neither too thick nor too thin for any season, Seungri loved it. Seungri was infatuated with lavender. (Secretly, it was because he associated the colour with Hinata Hyuuga from Naruto. Hinata was best.)

“I have the same one in dark blue in the dorm,” explained Jiyong. “That way, even if we’re apart, we’re still together.”

Seungri laughed. It was too much, too cheesy to not laugh at, and also too endearing. So gosh darn cliché, it made his sides hurt. 

Jiyong brought a hand to his cheek, pressed his thumb at its hollow and frowned. He said, “I’m sorry.”

He rubbed under Seungri’s eyes, at the prominent darkness. He said, “You must have had a hard time too.”

And Seungri halted.

Jiyong couldn’t have known about Jackson. None of their classmates cared about Seungri. Minho or Mino didn’t know. He never told anyone. Besides, it’s been almost a month since that run in the bathroom. The boy hadn’t threatened him recently.

(But, strangely, he did eat with him during the lunches whenever Jiyong wasn’t around, quietly, kindly, friendly.)

“Can you forgive me?” Jiyong asked, sincere and extremely regretful. “I’m in a rough place right now, too, so I can’t be as attentive as I want to be. Will you please bear with me?”

All Seungri could do was nod. He couldn’t remember what it was that Jiyong was apologizing for. All that would run through his mind was how his boy was told that he was useless, that he was talentless and he should just go back to where he came from because he would never attain anything. He remembered seeing red. He remembered Jiyong calming him down because the trainer just told everyone that, that it was merely preparation for the harsher outside world.

_Seungri was selfish_.

Jiyong slipped his hand behind his neck and leaned closer, slow and careful. It made Seungri’s heart beat too fast and too hard. The look in Jiyong’s eyes were wary; asking for the permission Seungri didn’t think he had to give.

Jiyong’s lips looked inviting, soft and chapped and exciting. Seungri felt his own dry, the moment cutting off his air and demanding him to breathe at the same time.

The knock on the door made him sigh in relief and frustration.

 

 

Two,

One thing that Seungri couldn’t understand was how food cooked by his mother or Mrs. Kwon always tasted better than his own, no matter how much everyone said otherwise.

The two mothers demanded that he sit the cooking out for the night, reasoning that he’d be doing much of that in the future anyway. The women shared a laugh then – the type only shared by a five year friendship. They practically raised their boys together.

Another thing Seungri couldn’t quite understand was why he couldn’t take his eyes off the glistening expensive-looking ring on his mother’s finger. It didn’t have a big diamond, so he vehemently refused the possibility of it being a wedding ring.

Nevertheless, it was beautiful. Intricately designed by vines of swirls and curves, dotted by shiny, tiny, rocks of electric blue, it looked like a web of blue roses.

He was sure it wasn’t something his mother had previously owned; he’s tried all of her jewelry before and he would have remembered something so… _enchanting_.

“Eomma,” he said distractedly around a mouthful of delicious mashed potatoes. “That’s pretty.”

The woman immediately knew what her child was talking about. Her son’s voice would hold a reverent pitch whenever faced with something shiny. He was materialistic like that. He was cute like that.

She flushed and the other woman in the room gasped. “Seonha!” she exclaimed, scandalized.

Admittedly, Seungri got terribly distracted by pretty jewelry. He had asked for a ring from his mother but she only agreed if it were fake, stating that the real ones were too expensive and that he’d lose them. He argued that he wouldn’t bring it to school. She laughed because they both knew that was a lie.

There was just something so mesmerizing about shiny bands decorated with fancy stones and gems.

So he got terribly distracted, and only realized that he said what he said loudly despite his mother sitting directly in front of him.

She blushed. The man beside her tucked her into his side. Jiyong’s mother gasped louder.

“Congratulations!” Mr. Kwon beamed.

“When?!” his wife demanded, face contorted into a weird fusion of anger and happiness. “How?!”

The blush on Seonha’s face darkened. She leaned on her boyfriend for support.

“Last Saturday,” she said bashfully. “During the company Christmas party. In front of everyone.”

The other woman squealed. The fathers gave the women weird looks. Dami exclaimed.

“Oh!” she went. “You have to let me design your wedding dress, auntie! I could use the practice.”

Dami had been taking a fashion course in a university in Seoul. Seonha wasn’t too sure but she hadn’t the heart to say no. She hesitantly complied.

Then something clicked in Seungri’s mind because it all wasn’t adding up. “Why are you getting a wedding dress?” he belatedly asked.

The boyfriend reached across the table to pat his forearm. “I asked your mother to marry me, sport,” he said nervously. “Is that okay?”

“Uh, no you didn’t.” Seungri pouted. “Aren’t wedding rings supposed to have diamonds?”

He laughed, along with the rest of the table. “Yes, but this is only an engagement ring. I promise to give your mom a diamond for the wedding.”

Seungri glanced at Jiyong, and the older just stared back. There was a blush that steadily creeped up his neck that Seungri failed to decipher.

He figured, if the man could give his mother a diamond ring, he could probably gift him something too. (Like maybe that new mixer he’s been eyeing ever since he saw it on YouTube.)

“Okay,” he shrugged, to the visible relief of everyone. He didn’t understand why. He’d always been easy to bribe with chocolate cake. When the man bribed him with a means to make his own – and more –Seungri was sure he’d already given his consent then.

Plus, ever since he gave his mother less time to send at work, he was sold.

_Oh, well. If it got him more gifts, why not?_

 

 

Three.

Jackson gave him a bouquet of roses for his birthday.

Jiyong didn’t know. Seonha thought it was a gag gift from her son’s friends.

Seungri didn’t know what to feel.

(It was sweet.)


	13. Chapter 13

The New Year hadn’t brought anything new. Jiyong was just as busy, just as absent from class. Seungri knew that Jiyong’s parents were talking him into taking his classes at Seoul, to save both time and energy. Jiyong was persistent: he either schooled where Seungri was or he didn’t at all.

Truthfully, his parents were too soft. Honestly, Seungri was glad they were.

On a particular trek home alone, Seungri experienced one of the worst nights of his life.

The January air was too cold. Despite winter ending, the frost in the air was almost unbearable.

He had begun to see the beauty of loneliness: the serenity, the reflection. He hadn’t been able to before. But with a deeper understanding that Jiyong could never be always physically present, and that his friends had other friends now, he was able to walk peacefully without worrying about being beaten to death.

Jackson was, dare Seungri say, friendly. When they’d meet in campus, he was greeted with a small smile or a small conversation, instead of a threat or a fist. Jackson still stole his food, but his closest friends had always stolen his food. Mino and Minho, at rare times, managed to pop up suddenly beside him just so they could. Jackson was nothing worse.

He had no idea what exactly brought it on, but Seungri didn’t want to question the blessing. He welcomed Jackson’s friendliness, hoping every day that it wouldn’t end soon.

So when he was suddenly pulled at the collar by familiarly strong hands, he tried to smile back.

“Hey, Riri,” Jackson greeted. “Heading home?”

“That was the plan,” he tried to joke, betrayed by the little quiver in his voice.

The elder boy slung a heavy arm around his shoulders and turned him in a different direction. He was too close for comfort.

(He was too much to refuse.)

The night was drawing in. It was one of those days when his mother had to stay later at work. Seungri understood; it didn’t sting as much as it previously had.

Didn’t mean Seungri disliked it less. He still abhorred going back to an empty home. The solitude inside draining him more than the outside. At least, the air wasn’t as suffocating.

He needed the extra training anyway. He was aiming for starting five next year.

“How’s class?” Jackson attempted, pulling Seungri closer under the still-cold weather. Warmth spread across his cheeks. The scarf woven around his neck hid the redness well enough.

“Fine,” Seungri murmured, honestly lost for anything more to say.

The taller hummed. He removed his arm and grabbed Seungri’s hand instead, stuffing it in his jacket pocket. Somehow, Seungri thought that was worse. Somehow, an ugly feeling of betrayal surged through his chest.

“J-jiyong got me milk chocolates from Seoul, though,” he stammered for want of anything to say, anything to distract him from the intimacy he was being forced into. “They were g-good.”

Jackson hummed deeper. He pushed their hands and held on tighter. Seungri forgot to breathe, concentrated instead on putting one foot in front of the other.

The rest of their walk was spent in a restricting awkwardness.

He was led to a restaurant close to the town’s center. It was bustling with life even if the night was young. Of course it was, it was where people got drunk.

He wanted to pull away.

“We’re not going in there, are we?” he worried, reluctant to pull away even though his brain was ringing alarm bells.

Jackson laughed. “Course we are!” he exclaimed, excitement back after Seungri’s little fault from earlier. “It’s just a little drink between friends, right?”

Seungri hesitated at the word _friends_. Boyfriend was still a little stronger.

He stopped walking, pulling Jackson into a halt as well. “I… I really shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” He was shot a look.

Before he even said it, Seungri knew it was the wrong thing to say. “Jiyong wouldn’t want me to.”

Jackson sneered.

“He said he should be the first person I go drinking with,” the younger continued.

“Tough luck,” Jackson growled. “You’re still drinking with us.”

He tugged at the basketball player harshly, practically dragging him into the store.

It was warm inside, hot and definitely noisy. There were a few vacant tables, the rest packed with university students.

“I’m not l-legal yet!” Seungri tried. “I can’t!”

“We’re drinking with the owner’s son,” Jackson scoffed. “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

He was pushed into a booth where Jackson’s two groupies already were. Unlike their leader, the two haven’t been any sort of friendlier toward him. They were still an ass. They still mocked him and threatened him, worse sometimes than Jackson was. The latter never cared enough to make them stop.

Jackson sat beside him, scooting over so close Seungri barely had the room to move.

“We got cocktail for the lady,” the one nicknamed Bambam insulted. He pushed over a pitcher of red liquid. Seungri uselessly hoped it to be strawberry juice. “Beer might be too bitter for the Sweet Pea?”

Jackson ignored the jibe. His hands were quick to pour an iced glass, which he handed to Seungri. Under the watchful glare, the younger brought it to his lips, taking in the liquid in small sips.

Sweet and tangy, it did taste like strawberries, if strawberries kicked and made his stomach warm.

“Good?” Jackson smiled handsomely at him.

Seungri nodded, never one to deny something that tasted good.

The word _friends_ echoed in his mid.

He calmed.

 

 

 

Thing was, if they hadn’t ignored him, maybe Seungri could have seen it coming. But they did. So he didn’t.

Jackson and his friends talked like he wasn’t there. Never mind that they ordered food mainly so that he could have something to eat, or that the boy named Mark never let his glass go empty, or that he was left to finish the whole pitcher, or that Jackson’s left arm never left his waist. For the most part, he felt invisible.

But maybe because they got tired of asking him questions when all he gave were one word answers.

Regardless, he was isolated. Strangely, he felt fine.

Although… although not totally. He felt, well, strange in a warm, sleepy, he-really-needed-to-pee sort of way.

Which reminded him:

He pushed against Jackson – and, okay, he couldn’t remember when he’d actually leaned into him in the first place – and turned to him. “I need to pee,” he pouted, aegyo unconsciously showing. There was a slight fuzziness in his head, too.

Jackson slid out of the booth after a laugh.

As soon as Seungri stood up, he went unbalanced. He swore he felt himself falling, even though he didn’t meet the ground with his face. He collided with a sturdy chest though, which was a laugh. His palms groped at them, curious and excited.

“Woah,” he breathed and when he looked up, Jackson was smirking at him. He giggled because he remembered, “I didn’t fall.”

The hands on his waist felt like they were on his skin, but that couldn’t be right. He was wearing a shirt.

Jackson was in front of him, though, and either there was something wrong with the lights, or his face was all he could see. “Easy,” the soccer player hummed, “I’ll help you.”

“Thank you,” Seungri allowed, and he was shakily led to the bathroom.

He felt like he was on a boat, not that he has been on a boat before, but he suspected that that was how it felt like. It took a lot more concentration than normal to be able to walk properly. The room wasn’t exactly spinning either (it almost was).

He wondered: if there was an earthquake, would he be walking straight?

He brushed off Jackson’s offer to help him inside the bathroom, one of those where the occupancy was for one person only. The light was yellow, casting the small room in a disgusting sort of atmosphere. The stench was repugnant, as typical as public bathrooms went. It did no favors for his queasy stomach and he has never wanted to pee and puke so badly in his life before.

Pulling his zipper down and trying to keep straight took a lot of effort. _Has peeing ever took that long?_ But he did it without any incident, and the flush through his body was so relieving. He felt embarrassingly proud.

When he staggered out of the bathroom, Jackson was talking to a familiar face and happiness bloomed in his chest faster than he could control it.

"Mino!" Seungri exclaimed, raising his arms in excitement and giddiness even though they’d seen each other just yesterday.

"Seunghyun?" said the big man. He was wearing a baggy shirt and faded jeans. He must have skipped school again.

Seungri bounded to him, attacked the taller with a tight embrace. He heard a deep chuckle by his ear and strong arms hug him back. "What are you doing here?" he was asked.

There was a pull by the back of his shirt and he stumbled against Jackson. He was so uncoordinated that he didn’t think he’d have been able to stand by himself. So he stayed, leaned against Jackson as the older held him up. He saw Mino’s face contort into confusion.

"He’s with me," was all the soccer player said, creating tension even Seungri felt in his fogged up state.

Mino delicately raised an eyebrow. "Are you drunk, babe?" Seungri was addressed, the nickname baby girl shortened as his group of friends were used to do.

To be honest, it might have not been the best that Mino called him that. When Minho said it, it sounded like an innocent nickname. When Jimin said it, it sounded like a tease. When Sungmin said it, it sounded like he was talking to an actual baby. But when Mino said it, it sounded like they were in a relationship.

(The differences would soon dwindle, though, because they’d still call him baby well into college and the nickname would roll off their tongues as easy as his real name would.)

"Maybe a litte bit," Seungri giggled and hiccuped. Mino was wearing a shiny earring. When he got his ear pierced, Seungri had no idea. But it was shiny and he could not fathom how such a girly accessory look so masculine on him.

He wasn’t jealous, though. No, jealousy was far from how he was feeling.

Mino looked good and dangerous.

(Seungri blamed the alcohol.)

Mino reached for him with a sigh. "Come on, I’ll take you home."

Jackson subtly pulled him away. "Nah, I got him. You can trust me, Mino-ssi."

Mino stared. Jackson didn’t back down.

Seungri didn’t so much as care as he remembered they were talking previously. He gasped out a smile. "I didn’t know you knew each other!" Jackson was starting to feel good behind him. He sort of wanted to go to sleep.

"Y-yeah," Mino stuttered out. "W-we’re... friends."

The word _friends_ echoed through Seungri’s mind.

"We’re friends, too!" Seungri exclaimed. Most of his words had been coming out in slurs, but he didn’t know that.

He felt Jackson stand straighter. "See? He’s safe with me." Jackson pulled him away. "Let’s go home, Seungri-ah." And Seungri let him, because he was sleepy and Jackson felt good. He was nice. He was a friend.

Mino watched on as Seungri waved him a goodbye. Something churned in his gut.

 

 

 

Jackson held his hand as they walked home together. Seungri didn’t mind. It gave him something to hold on to when his legs would suddenly take on a mind of their own and not follow his will to walk properly. Besides, Jackson was a friend.

And as a friend, he finally found someone to let out all his woes onto.

(Seungri blamed that on the alcohol too.)

"All Jiyong talked about was Youngbae!" he lamented, after telling Jackson their history as a couple, summarized in less than fifteen minutes. "But I guess that’s okay. If he isn’t talking about him, he’s talking about how hard training is and how he has to work out in a gym every time. And how useless he feels. Or inadequate. Or how he just wants to quit but can’t because it’s my dream now too."

Seungri giggled and hiccupped and possibly burped a little. Then he continued, "Isn’t he sweet? He’s so perfect. He can even do flips now. Flips! And it really is okay because he says it’s all for me –"

He was suddenly slammed into a wall.

The pain was sharp against his back. The movement was too fast for his sluggish eyes to handle. A quick look told him they were in a narrow alley, private and dark under the cloudy night sky.

Jackson took his breath away.

Seungri was trapped between his arms. With the wall in his back, Jackson before him was more than a sight to see. He was an aura, a charismatic presence overwhelming and too much for all of his senses to take. He was handsome, and Seungri has never denied his physical attractiveness, but he was frightening. His eyes were sharp, lashes long, beautiful against his golden skin. He had a masculine face, shoulders wide that led to a slim waist. He smelled like pine trees and fresh air, prominent even though infused with alcohol and smoke.

"Forget about him, Riri," he said, voice low and seductive, lips quirked up in a tempting smile.

And, really, the temptation churned in the younger’s gut, disgusting in his own suppressed want. Secretly, Seungri wanted to believe that Jackson wanted to be friends. In his loneliness, Jackson showered him with an attention no one did. In the front of his mind, he knew it was wrong. In the back, he wondered if it was too much of a sin to be attracted to someone who treated him badly.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if it was too much to ask for the older boy to just like him instead.

"He’s not here," Jackson reminded him. "I am."

And, shit, that was true.

Jackson was there.

He was a friend.

Jackson was there for him.

So when he came close, and pressed their lips gently together, Seungri let him. His eyes fluttered close as the elder breathed into his mouth and pushed him harder against the wall.

Seungri let him, intoxicated by the night, the alcohol, and Jackson overall. It didn’t feel right.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if it was too much of a sin to want a friend again.

In the front of his mind, he knew it was wrong.

In the front of his mind, Jiyong’s face flashed and he knew.

It wasn’t right.

He pushed Jackson away, a strangled refusal dripping from his tongue.

"Stop!” he forced. “I’m in love with Jiyong!" he screamed, more as a reminder for himself than for the boy before him. Regret was flooding his insides, filling him with remorse and self-hatred.

It filled Jackson with anger.

Words were forewent. The stronger boy came at him with a force backed with rage, impatience, and lack of understanding. In the flash of a moment before Jackson pressed into him, Seungri saw his bloodshot eyes. Seungri smelled his alcohol-laced breath.

His lips were on him again, harsher, more demanding, aggressive and nothing Seungri ever wanted. He felt the buttons of his school shirt pop open as it was violently torn open. Seungri screamed, tried to, but Jackson’s thick hands quickly muffled his attempts.

The younger struggled, cursing the alcohol that coursed through his system, making him weak, making him nauseated, sick, disgusted, uncoordinated, and helpless.

Jackson was doing it again, overpowering him, like he did back in the bathroom when he was made to wear the female school uniform he still kept at the back of his closet. Seungri was terrified, besieged by guilt and utter, shameless fear, because no matter how much he thrashed his limbs, or tried to push him away, or struggled, it did nothing. Jackson was still on him, denying his screams and restricting his movement, all the while tearing his clothes off as if they were nothing, as if he’s done this before.

Seungri had gone through this before, but he knew this wouldn’t end in a moment of self-realization and it wouldn’t give him a sense of friendship.

He desperately, desperately, wanted Jackson away, but he was also completely powerless. Weak, despite all of his training, despite all of his push ups, despite all of his hard work. Because Jackson probably worked harder, without a doubt stronger than Seungri in every possible way.

He was suddenly out of his pants. He was suddenly turned and slammed back against the sticky wall of that dirty alleyway. His boxers were suddenly yanked away from his hips, pulled down to his quivering thighs. The cold air suddenly hit his cheeks with a chill and something else hard and long, making him choke and gulp and feel his heart on his throat.

Jackson raked his teeth on his bare shoulder, biting him harshly as his hand held firmly against Seungri’s mouth, while the other grabbed lower, gripping tightly where he shouldn’t be near at all. Jackson breathed hotly in his ear. Seungri breathed dreadfully against his hand.

It all made Seungri cry, scream out his lamentation and fears and sobbed, _please, don’t, Jackson, please, stop_.

And suddenly, he was gone.

Suddenly, there was Mino.

 

 

 

 

 

Mino’s blood boiled. He knew it. He fucking knew Jackson the asshole was up to no good.

 _Fuck_ , Mino was stupid. _Fuck, fuck_ , he should have known.

In his burst of monstrous anger, he yanked Jackson away and beat him to a pulp, the surprise working to has advantage as he gave all his strength in pummeling him, punching all his soft spots and kicking him where the sun didn’t shine. As he pulled Seungri to his feet and pulled him away by the arm, he might have heard Jackson snivelled. He didn’t care.

He was fucking enraged.

Seungri dropped beside him, his hold broken by the unexpectedness. Crouching before him in worry, the sight Mino saw hitched his breath.

Seungri was hyperventilating. Eyes overflowed with tears, shrouded with a desperate fear. He was shaking terribly, crying mouth-opened with a suppressed scream.

He was pitiful, heartbreaking in the least, and Mino cursed himself. He held Seungri close, protected him from the cold night wind between his arms.

He should have fucking known.

There were rumours, those that only spread within his circle and his people - his sort of people. Jocks and interlopers, those that had a naughty sort of life outside of school, those who smoked, those who drank, those who took something other than for medicinal purposes, those who had turfs and fought if only for the exercise of territorial power.

He was one of them. So was Jackson. And there was a rumor that Jackson was getting himself another bitch, a perfect one – an almost perfect one because this time it was a boy.

He couldn’t care less because Jackson was from another group, he was just a name out of the numerous names out there, so Mino never looked to ask.

But the rumours were there.

And no one dared to go after his gem because Jackson was the son of a politician. He had power, the sort none of them could (or would want to) touch.

The rumours said that his new bitch was a catch. Perfect, depending on how they looked at it. He heard that the bitch was smart, book-smart, and at the same time he was athletic (flexible, was the point). He heard that he was a he, which was a challenge as it was, but he was also spoken for. He thought that of course he was: a supposedly perfect guy couldn’t have been single. Apparently, he was already in a relationship with another guy, and it was always worth more points when they were able to steal somebody else’s girl. Not to mention that he apparently had skills in the kitchen.

Most of all, he heard that the bitch was pretty – beautiful, really, with the fairest skin and a body lithe and strong and perfect.

He heard the he was a virgin.

 _Shit_ , Mino thought as he let Seungri cry in his arms. All the rumors pointed to the boy and he should have fucking known.

He knew that Seungri was better academically than when they were in middle school; he had to be, he was doing homework for him and Jiyong. And he knew his coach was impressed by the boy’s recent progress.

He knew that no one cared that Jiyong was in a relationship with a boy – he was from a long line of a family of lawyers and word has spread that YG himself invited him to join YG Ent. As power and prominence went, Jiyong was up there. But Mino didn’t stop to think that the same may not have been the same for Seungri. Seungri wasn’t as popular; he had no claim other than being on the basketball team.

He knew all about Seungri’s skill in the kitchen – wanted a monopoly on it, even. He was lucky Jiyong allowed a share.

But the beauty, well, he has never looked at Seungri that way, but when Jackson claimed the younger as being with him, Mino saw it, felt it:  a radiant sort of attraction pulling at his heartstrings, possibly because Seungri was as beautiful inside as he was outside.

Unbeknownst to Mino, what Seungri possessed was a tragic sort of beauty, brought about by a sad set of circumstances without him meaning to. Seungri had been lonely, had staved off the intense depression by sleeping at least eight hours a day. He had been losing appetite, eating just enough to keep up with training, opting for healthier options as Jiyong and Jackson liked their meats and more filling foods. Seungri ate less, but he was careful enough to not let it get in the way of practice. He neither wanted to let anyone know or get worried just because his body decided to suddenly give up on him and collapse. He drowned all his cravings with water. He filled his time with more training.

In the time that he has been bullied, the way Seungri looked betrayed the darkness he felt, all for the reason that he didn’t want anyone to worry about him, all for the reason that he didn’t want anyone to know.

All for the reason that he thought he’d have been selfish by doing so.

Mino sighed. Seungri had quieted down after a while. The younger had a dazed look, sniffling and staring at his small hands. Mino told him to climb on his back so he could carry him home. Seungri easily followed, wrapping his arms around Mino’s neck tight. The taller boy felt him snuggle, knew that Seungri hid his face and succumbed himself to the darkness and familiarity of a true friend.

(Shit, Seungri was so much lighter than he remembered.)

Mino didn’t know fully. All he knew was the overpowering power of Seungri’s beauty. He highly doubted that just anyone could have seen it. Heck, if anyone could, then he should have been the most popular kid in school. He surmised, therefore, that it could only have been seen after an immersion, only after a concentrated attention, like what Mino was currently giving him, like what Jackson had unwittingly fell into, like what Jiyong kept on constantly reaching for.

So when they arrived at Seungri’s home in a fragile silence, after the slightly younger boy had retreated to the confines of his home, Mino breathed. So long as no one like him got close to Seungri, the boy would be fine. He, himself, would have to keep away. He wasn’t that much different from Jackson. They were the same people, after all.

 

 

 

 

 

Three days later, Seungri was cornered in the school halls by Jackson. By instinct, he pressed himself closer to the lockers behind him. It must have caused quite a noise as the other students gave him a look.

Jackson flinched. He looked bad, real bad. A black eye and a swollen cheek, his left shoulder looked stiff.

Heart stammering, Seungri wanted to cry. He wished Jiyong was there. Jackson tried to give him a rose.

 _Tried_ ; Seungri didn’t want to take it.

"I..." began the soccer player. “I’m sorry."

Seungri had no reply.

"I am," Jackson gulped. "I really am."

The students around them watched. Seungri shrunk into himself, wanting to disappear, wanting Jackson to disappear.

The taller boy smiled a self-deprecating smile that Seungri knew too well. He has smiled that smile enough to know. "I know what you’re thinking," he confessed. "Truth is, I like you. Enough to say it in public. Enough not to care that eveyone else might know. I like you, and I just wanted you to know that I’m not that cruel, that I’m not the spawn of the devil, no matter how pompous that statement is now, after all that I’ve done."

Seungri wanted to scoff. He remained stoic.

Jackson continued. "This might be the worst confession in the history of confessions, but I’m only saying this because I really am sorry. What I did wasn’t right. I’d blame the alcohol, but it’s not an excuse. And I know this rose could never make up for all the mistakes I’ve made. But I still like you, so I hope you still accept this, and I promise to never bother you again. A punishment to myself and an apology to you. I promise."

Seungri struggled to breathe. Maybe this was a cruel joke. Maybe Jackson was playing him. He had no reason to believe a word out of the asshole’s mouth.

But in all the times that Jackson has bothered him, he has never once looked this way: a sadness that blanketed the whole of him. Seungri wanted to be cruel, he wanted to make him feel at least a smidgeon of what he was made to feel.

Then he decided against it; he didn’t want to be someone who hated himself, someone who Jackson was undeniably at that moment.

Mainly, he just wanted Jackson away.

Carefully, Seungri took the rose and Jackson’s eyes flicked to his, showing surprise and a light sort of gratitude. They remained that way, in a thin line between comfort and not. Jackson wanted forgiveness, Seungri wanted to breathe.

"I’ll see you around," Jackson said as a goodbye. Seungri tipped his head in recognition.

From the edges of his sight, Seungri saw Mino turn and walk away.

 

 

 

 

 

The next weekend, after more than a week of being absent from class, Jiyong pushed Seungri into the cushions of his bed. His mother might have been outside, but the older had locked the doors and wasted no time.

Jiyong hovered above him, hands on either side of Seungri’s head, and snarled. "Why didn’t you tell me?" he demanded, disappointing Seungri a little because he was expecting something else. "I had to find out from Mino of all people!"

 

 

 

It felt different – immeasurably different from when Jackson had trapped him into practically the same position. Seungri was relaxed, inviting. None of his senses screamed in protest, neither his heart nor his mind, not out of Jiyong’s proximity.

But the frown on Jiyong’s face unsettled him. Call him irrational, but it triggered something ugly within him, something so close to what he felt before when they first fought, when he first felt so alone and betrayed by Jiyong who chose Nana over him. “Don’t you get mad at me for nothing, Kwon Jiyong!” he scolded, sounding strangely just like his mother. He pushed Jiyong away, sitting up with his hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Nothing?!” gasped Jiyong, flabbergasted at how little Seungri must have understood the situation. “You’re the one who neglected to tell me–”

“Oh!” gasped Seungri right back, sassy with all the right reasons. “If we’re talking about someone neglecting to tell someone about something, let’s talk about you and cigarettes and drugs.”

“That’s different!”

“How in the hell is that different?”

“This is about you and I...”

Jiyong abruptly stopped. Seungri stared at him, waiting.

“I care about you.”

Seungri deflated. This was ridiculous. They were fighting over nothing, over something that happened months ago and it should have been done and forgiven. Now he wanted Jiyong close to him again.

“I’m sorry for failing to put you first,” Jiyong continued, gaze at his trembling hands and Seungri realized the fear and regret – the self-blame – the trainee must have felt. “I was so caught up with my own troubles I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me. I’m so thankful for you, Seungri-ah. My everyday is easier because of you.”

Jiyong reached out and took his boy’s hands in his, caressed them until Seungri looked up into his eyes. “I promise, if you let me, to make up for it. I promise to be fair and to tell you everything because you deserve at least that.”

“It’s okay,” Seungri sighed, thinking that a relationship was always a tango. He then laced his fingers behind Jiyong’s neck and tried to pull the older to him. “I know you can’t always be here physically, and I understand that you have responsibilities now that we can’t do anything about.”

“It’s still not an excuse; I should still make you feel loved.”

“You do!”

“But not as much as you!”

Seungri breathed; Jiyong wasn’t entirely wrong. But during the past months when so much has happened and he tried and failed to blame everything on Jiyong, Seungri couldn’t do anything about it, not when Jiyong was with him, he was showered with all his attention.

Seungri failed to appreciate the fact that when they were together, everything was right in the world, not because Seungri did anything different, but because Jiyong had made sure to do so.

Sometimes, he realized, that when the story was written in his perspective, all he could see was himself.

And yet when Jiyong came back to him, the older never failed to tell him how much he wanted to come back or to just take the panda boy with him, that Seungri was included in his plans.

The whole training and beginning idol business was just something Jiyong had to do first, for himself, in order for him to be able to do more for the both of them.

Difference was, while Seungri thought of the everyday, Jiyong had already been thinking about tomorrow.

Seungri really had been selfish.

Jiyong wouldn’t have smoked or taken drugs if he weren’t under such immense pressure.

“I didn’t want to bother you with my problems,” Seungri explained, even if his heart was selfish enough not to in his hardest of times. He wanted Jiyong close to him, apologetic and filled with gratitude at the same time. He wanted this fight – if it were a fight – over with. He just wanted them to be okay again.

To kiss and make out (he meant _up_ ), just as normal couples do.

"Seungri," Jiyong admonished, pushing back against Seungri’s plump hands. "You will never be a bother. Let’s just be open with each other, especially problems like Jackson. Okay?"

"Jackson is no longer a problem," Seungri argued, impatient now for Jiyong. It’s been more than a week. Jiyong should really come to him because he hasn’t even seen Jackson’s shadow ever since the third year student apologized.

Jiyong freed himself from Seungri’s hold and scooted closer. "I’m serious, Seungri," he sighed. "Promise me that next time he bothers you – someone bothers you – tell me. I would never be too busy for you."

"Okay," he said easily, touched that Jiyong cared that much for him.

Mino must not have told Jiyong the whole story, at least not the part where he was practically naked with another person’s hand down his pants. Mino couldn’t have told, or else Jiyong wouldn’t have taken it all so lightly.

Seungri kept mum, keeping the secret to himself, convinced that he wasn’t breaking the promise. Jiyong did say next time. He promised to tell him the next time.

Seungri wished to never tell Jiyong of any sort.

Jiyong combed his hands through Seungri’s hair, letting out another sigh, resigned that he had lacked. "I’m sorry," he whispered, "for not being there for you."

"It’s all right," Seungri answered. "It wasn’t your fault."

"I love you," Jiyong said, looking into Seungri’s eyes and wondering.

As far as kisses went, it wouldn’t have been their first time. Truthfully, he regretted their first time: that one cold summer kiss all those years ago that he neither treasured nor reacted properly to. He remembered being plagued by the want to do it repeatedly over and over, plagued by the fear of its appropriateness, plagued by the confusion.

He could not have known he would be free to take all the kisses he wanted from Seungri, free from bets or whatnot.

Jiyong leaned in carefully, dropping his lips on Seungri’s along with the rest of his body. This time, though, he didn’t have to think if this was wrong, if this was appropriate, or why he was feeling all the strange sensations his body and mind were feeling. No matter what, he knew he would never regret these moments, not when it was him and Seungri.

And when Seungri kissed him back, he never knew kisses could be that freeing.

 


	14. Chapter 14

Their parents left them alone together more often.

Seriously, Jiyong was sixteen and Seungri was fourteen. They’ve been in a relationship for more than a year. They’ve been best friends for more than five. Besides, they were both boys. Jiyong’s parents were cool; Seungri’s mother happily lost her virginity at fourteen, to Seungri’s father, her first love. Therefore, although they never really said that they were okay if their children had sex at that age, they made no real effort to put a stop to it.

And Seungri, clever boy that he was, loved Jiyong so much he was more than willing.

He was eager.

“Come on,” he persuaded in a loud whisper. He was sitting on top of Jiyong, during one of those rare weekends the trainee was allowed off.

The room was dark. He made sure the door of Jiyong’s room was locked. His boyfriend was hopping on the train back to Seoul early the next morning.

He wondered if he reeked of desperation. Then figured that it didn’t matter ‘cause, what the heck, maybe he was.

Jiyong shook his head. “Not until you’re fifteen, Ri.”

“I can’t wait that long!” Seungri pouted.

“Two months?” Jiyong laughed.

“Why?” he whined.

Jiyong sighed. “Seungri,” was all Seungri let him say before the younger decided that it was time for drastic measures.

He took his pink shirt off, threw it to the side of the bed, and licked his lips. He yanked the covers off Jiyong, down past his knees, before sitting back on him, exactly where Jiyong’s crotch was.

Seungri knew how pretty the moonlight would shine on his skin. He was aware how kissable his pink lips were, how tasty his collarbones looked, how beautiful and frankly irresistible. Jiyong has told him enough times whenever they made out.

Seungri moved his hips. He saw Jiyong’s Adam’s apple bob with a gulp, felt the older’s interest harden beneath him.

He smirked. There was no doubt in his mind that he didn’t have to do much to turn his boyfriend on.

Jiyong’s hands trailed to his bare sides, just above the band of his pajama pants. Seungri took it as a signal to bend down slow. He stared into his lover’s eyes, unwavering, certain, and hungry.

All he could see was love in Jiyong’s. It made his heart flutter in warmth and excitement.

When their lips touched, it was electric. Truth was, Seungri had never come onto the future idol so strongly before, and the reciprocation thrilled him to his core. It filled him up ironically with something insatiable, something that consumed and wanted to be consumed.

Seungri rolled his hips, making Jiyong groan into his mouth. The older’s hold got tighter and wound around his back. With a firm grip on Seungri’s slim waist, they flipped over. The baller’s breath caught at the darkness of the eyes that unashamedly stared at him.

“Do you really want this?” Jiyong asked, low, barely above a whisper. Seungri’s thundering heart must have been louder.

“Yes.”

“Have you done this before?”

It was a weird question; it had to be. They were each other’s first actual relationship. Unless Jiyong had slept with Nana – which Seungri didn’t want to even start thinking about – then they were both virgins. Seungri didn’t much understand the question. Then again, with Jiyong responding to him, rolling his hips up his ass, the younger doubted that he would have understood much.

“Have you?” Seungri countered, distracted by the bow of Jiyong’s lips. He wanted to lick at them and take them between his teeth, but he also wanted them on his collarbones. It was quite a dilemma.

Jiyong sighed. He rolled Seungri to his side and grasped at his hands. He gave the younger a peck, quick and sweet and telling of an end. “We should wait,” Jiyong gently said. “It’ll both be our first time and I want it to be perfect.”

The gears in Seungri’s head started to turn again. He smiled. He wanted that too. Jiyong was so smart. If it were up to Seungri, he would have run and gunned it.

Ah, what would Seungri do without this boy?

Of course, he was sure that as long as his first time was with Jiyong, it would have been perfect.

Besides, “do you even know how two boys do it?” Jiyong asked him, eyes bright with mischief in the darkness of the night.

Well, _no,_ “but I’m a girl, aren’t I?”

Jiyong stopped. His hands flattened forcefully on Seungri chest and squeezed. There was… nothing. Seungri was as flat as a cardboard.

Seungri gasped at Jiyong’s raise of an eyebrow. “How dare you!” he exclaimed, slapping the offending hands away and crossing his own over protectively. “Just because I’m flat doesn’t mean I’m less of a girl.”

“Okay, okay,” Jiyong laughed. He pulled Seungri close, back to how they were when the night began. “I was just trying to ask if you even have any idea how it’ll go between us.”

Seungri hummed, purposely breathing out on Jiyong’s neck. “Do you?”

“Barely.”

“Me too.”

Jiyong sighed, tired but not emotionally. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Duh,” Seungri snorted. It didn’t matter; he really wanted this. He wanted to be so connected to his heart, he was insistent at fourteen. “Better before my birthday.”

Jiyong chuckled. “Promise, on your birthday.”

Seungri let his eyelids drop. He was holding Jiyong to that.

 

 

 

 

 

That wasn’t what Jimin had been expecting when Seungri told him he had a question that needed to be asked privately. Then again, for a smart kid, he should have seen it coming. The sexual tension between the couple was so thick it choked him.

Still, he had to ask Seungri to repeat it. There was a large chance he might not have heard right.

“Jimin-ah,” Seungri whined, red all over. “Don’t make me ask again.”

The younger exhaled in exasperation. He stared down at the heap of food in front of him. There was soup and bibimbop, japchae and fruit salad, of all things. It was practically a full course meal. He cursed the fact that he was so easily bribable with food. At least their whole group was, aside from Sungmin, who could be captured by either pink cute things or black deadly ones. He was a hoot.

“It’s not like I’m teasing or anything, baby,” he placated, careful because Seungri was hot and cold sometimes, especially when Jiyong was not around to calm him down. “I just need to be sure I heard right.”

Seungri pouted. That was a reason valid enough. He breathed.

“How do you have sex?”

And, okay, it was a straightforward question that was still difficult to digest.

“So you’re asking _me,_ ” treaded Jimin lightly, “how to have sex?”

“Yes.”

“Me,” he emphasized, “who’s younger than you?”

Seungri hesitated. “Y-yes.”

“And who’s more innocent?”

Seungri rolled his eyes. “Please.”

Jimin shook his head. He had no idea how it had come to this.

 

 

 

 

Seungri often thought about how, thankfully, second year got better.

Jackson had kept true to his word, and no one even came close to bullying him again. It might have something to do with the rumors that Jackson has been keeping him safe from the background. It might be because of Mino’s subtle lingering presence. Either way, life was good albeit he was still invisible most of the time.

That was all right, Jiyong was more than enough.

Jimin never quite left him alone either so that was a plus.

The kid had followed them to their high school, claiming how much he missed them and how he never wanted to be captain again. 

"You wouldn’t want to hang out with me, Jiminie," Seungri told him once, in the beginning of the year.

The younger brushed him off, opting to pick at the food in Jiyong’s lunchbox. The trainee was absent anyway. “Don’t care,” he answered. He could use his lunch money to buy Seungri a carton of chocolate milk, he thought.

So Seungri had let it go.

 

 

Jimin, on the fence on whether to feel regret or not, seriously thought Seungri must have hit his head somewhere. He knew he was a clever kid, never really doubted himself when it came to anything. Still, even he had to admit that he was no expert when it came to sexual intercourse with boys. Nor with girls. Nor did he want to.

Jimin was so clever that an early age, he knew he was asexual. Not to say that he hasn’t tried experimenting, but even that was taxing to his being. Years down the line, he’d learn to take in stride all of Seungri’s sexual frustrations. It was confusingly both vexing and flattering that despite his outraged confession on their second year of uni that he did not, in fact, get sexually aroused, Seungri nevertheless plagued him with his sexual woes. Perhaps it was his fault for making Seungri feel free to come to him whenever he had such problems. Perhaps it started that day when Seungri asked the perplexing question.

He scratched his cheek in apprehension. Seungri looked desperate enough that he legitimately wanted to help.

“Maybe you should watch porn?” Jimin tried, wincing at his answer himself.

Seungri gasped at him. “Are you crazy? Watching porn is a no-no!”

“Yah!” Jimin yelled back, frustrated at the baby girl’s lack of logic. It flew over their heads sometimes, to somewhere none of them could reach. “You’re okay to have sex but not watch it? You’re the one who’s crazy.”

Seungri threw a carton of chocolate milk, which Jimin expertly caught with his basketball skills. “Keep your voice down, gosh.” He deflated. “Besides, sex is an intimate act between two people. So if it’s with Jiyong, it’s fine. Watching other people do it couldn’t be right.”

Jimin literally felt the bile run up his throat. Sweet Seungri was too disgusting for his thirteen year old mind.

The second year slammed his palms on the table, making all the little containers of food jump. “Help me, please!” he demanded.

Shit, it was almost pathetic. Jimin groaned. “Look, I can’t help you,” he said, inching the box of fruit salad closer. “I swear I want to, but I can’t.”

Seungri pouted.

“Ask Minho?” Jimin amended.

Seungri felt his heart convulse, the sounds of a flat line rung in his ears. “Are you insane?!” he screamed, cute and overdramatic. “Minho would kill Jiyong!”

Jimin laughed. That was true. “He’d kill you too, that mother of ours.”

“No he won’t,” smirked Seungri, flipping his hair. “He thinks I’m an angel.”

Jimin snorted into a spoon of cream and fruit. Seungri was devilish, never actually able to let go of his mischievous adventures. He remembered why he looked up to the older boy, starting five with the other third years. While Mino and Minho were good by all means, in terms of height and strength, they slightly lacked compared to their other teammates. Seungri, apparently, was quick and clever enough to start the team off.

Jimin pursed his lips, rolling his eyes because he was so over this conversation. He loved Seungri, he did, but this was a problem he couldn’t help that much with and he’d rather savor food than save Seungri’s sex life. “Mino, then.”

Seungri gasped. He should have thought of that to begin with.

 

 

 

With all his heart and soul, he hated that things were okay.

Recently, Mino and Minho had been spending all their free time together. Seungri had no idea what brought it on, and on ordinary days he was ecstatic that they were, but it just grated on his nerves because he couldn’t approach Mino without Minho getting all curious and sticking his nose into his business.

It was probably because their captain was talking to their co-captain when the four boys overheard them. They were betting that either Mino or Minho would snag the captain position next year. Unable to come to a unanimous vote, they settled on saying that they would be captains either way, even if the other was a co-cap.

To them, even if Seungri was the obvious coach, with all of the team calling him a baby, they thought that the point guard wouldn’t be listened to by his teammates. Seungri was fine with it. Being called a baby let him get away from a few mistakes with his aegyo. He liked getting away from his mistakes with his aegyo.

Mino and Minho were ecstatic and proud. They squealed and jumped around, and after that they just naturally gravitated toward each other again, as if their last year wasn’t spent away from each other. Seungri and Sungmin were proud. Jimin couldn’t stop rolling his eyes.

Besides, their being together meant that he got to hang out with them more again. Seungri couldn’t complain, after the nightmare that was last year.

Couldn’t, but he still did.

“Are the two of you glued to the hip or something?!” he couldn’t help but burst, during a Wednesday night, after the coach whistled for a water break, and the two snickered together into their bottles. “Can’t you, like, live without each other even for a second?”

Mino and Minho startled. Jimin snorted into his jersey, having brought it up to wipe the sweat off his face and neck.

“Why, baby,” Mino smirked dangerously, strong arms glistening with sweat. It had been a running joke, after all, that Seungri sought attention because he let out once about feeling neglected when the two would act too close. “If you wanted me alone, all you had to do was ask.”

And that was it. That was Seungri’s chance. All he had to say was, _yes, Mino, I want you alone,_ but the bastard had winked and Seungri let it slip through his fingers. There was no way he was going to give Mino more bullets against him than he already had.

Minho snaked his arms around his shoulders and chest, and it irked Seungri how the Choi boy was able to do so elbow to elbow. Seungri was not thin. He just had a relatively smaller frame. It was Minho that had unfairly long limbs, evident at fourteen.

“You’re so cute when you need attention,” Seungri was told as Minho pressed into him uncomfortably. The jersey was already sticking annoyingly onto his back because of the three sets of suicides coach had made them run. Luckily, he was one of the quicker ones. The last half of the team had to run an extra set. Poor Jimin.

As such, their youngest had came off the court wheezing, grabbing for his water bottle on the benches. He was paid no real mind.

“If you can fry me something good tonight,” Mino purred, slinking over and rubbing Seungri’s arm, “then maybe we could work something out.”

Seungri shivered. They were too disgusting. He pushed them both off with a disgruntled groan. “Forget it!” he cried. “You two are hopeless! I don’t know why I bother! I will never ask for any of your he–”

Water was lightly splashed on his face with Jimin’s amazing new bottle that could spray the liquid inside. Seungri spluttered.

“Chill, baby,” Jimin admonished, still out of breath from all the laps he had to run. “You’re going about it all wrong. Don’t attack them.”

Seungri scoffed and crossed his arms. “How, then?”

“This Thursday. Sleepover. My mother insists.”

“Your mother knows?!” Seungri alarmed.

Jimin gave him a look of disappointment. Seungri should know better that Jimin would never betray a friend like that. “No, my mother wanted you over. She couldn’t get the lemon square recipe you made last time right.”

“Oh,” Seungri said, rather embarrassed.

Mino grabbed for a ball and started dribbling in an idle stance. “Why? What’s up?”

Jimin eyed at their coach. He had his whistle in his mouth, signaling the almost end of their water break. “You’ll find out on Thursday,” he said, snatching the lid of the bottle off. The water just couldn’t slide down his throat fast enough.

Minho hummed, contemplative. The issue must have been serious for Jimin to initiate an intervention. That, or his mother has been pestering him again as she was wont to do whenever she couldn’t get Seungri’s recipes right.

And it should have been a testament to Seungri’s talent that he had – even if they were only a few – recipes.

When he turned, Seungri had already been sauntering away. There was a sway in hips more feminine than masculine, but it wasn’t anything that mattered much. He guessed he’d have to find out on Thursday.

He stole the ball from Mino’s hands.

 

 

 

Hands on his forehead, Jimin’s head throbbed. He wondered if it were actually, physically possible to have a vein pop for the sole reason that one was frustrated with his hyungs. Seriously, he was the youngest. He was sheltered; he was the one who had the least life experience. Sure, a lot of girls confessed to him, but he never seriously acted on any of them.

But he was nothing like Minho who hung out with a lot of hyungs who took him out _to do stuff._

He was nothing like Mino who went out without initiation _to do stuff_.

And he was nothing like Seungri who _had stuff happen to him._

(All Jimin knew about then was the bullying incident, told by his classmates when they tried to warn him off the homo dude who got his ass bullied by some soccer varsity player. It was part of the reason he resolved to stick by Seungri’s side.)

Jimin was the most inexperienced one. So he couldn’t, for the life of him, understand how it came to be that Mino’s flimsy wife-beater was torn into uselessness at the front, a solid red hand print in the middle of his chest, Minho was soaked and dripping with sticky orange soda, head, shoulders and all, and Seungri was holding the rods where Jimin’s curtains were supposed to hang, raised in a threatening manner.

His room was a mess and the only one who could get out of trouble was Seungri and his uncanny ability to get out of jail free with his aegyo.

Jimin, poor little Jimin, had only been trying to help everyone. And he had no idea what happened, how it happened, and why it happened to _him_.

 _How the fuck was he supposed to know that it was Mino who would react so violently_.

They had a nice dinner, lemon squares for desert. His mother had it perfected with Seungri walking her step by step. His younger sister was starry eyed because there were cute, older boys around the table for once, and his father was always glad to meet his basketball friends. It was a good family affair, endearing in its own way. Then they, already in their jammies, had moved to his room where futons were laid on the floor, and they sat around a plateful more of Seungri’s amazingness and orange soda on the side.

They’d been playing this new co-op game on their phones, abusing the Park’s fast wifi, when Minho turned to Seungri.

“So?” he had asked, laying his head on Seungri’s lap, because funnily enough, it had always been Minho and Mino who were the most physically affectionate out of the five of them.

“So what?” Seungri had asked back, tongue sticking out in concentration. He was on a killing spree.

Minho nudged him with his shoulder. “You know,” he said a little distractedly. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Oh,” Seungri blushed. He let his character die in his hands. “I, uhm, wanted advice.”

“Oh?” Minho did the same. “About what?”

“Jiyong,” Seungri replied easily. “I just, don’t know, you know?”

Minho laughed. “What?”

He pushed off Minho’s head and scooted over closer to Mino, inch by inch until he was practically behind him. “Don’t get mad, okay?”

And Seungri didn’t know why he said that because that always soured Minho’s mood. “What?” he asked with a frown.

Jimin slapped his forehead. Mino snickered.

“I just,” Seungri stammered through labored breaths. His hands found purchase on the back of Mino’s shirt, and this was the plan all along. They could all be overdramatic most of the times, and Minho had a penchant for nagging them all for something or the other. If he ever went a little violent, which wasn’t too much of a conclusion to jump, he had Mino to protect him. Mino always protected him. “I… I…”

"Out with it," Minho sighed exasperatedly.

Seungri fidgeted. No matter how much he phrased the question in his head, it was a whole other thing to actually say it out loud. He was so embarrassed. He probably should have kept it to himself and trusted it all to Jiyong.

Then again, he also wanted this for the both of them. He wanted it to be as perfect for Jiyong as his boyfriend wanted it for him. To do that, he needed to know what to do, and he had no one else to ask but his closest friends.

"Seung–"

"Sex with Jiyong," the panda boy blurted out. "How?"

It wasn’t a properly formulated question, he knew; it was all his frazzled brain could manage.

The grip he had on Mino’s shirt tightened as Minho’sexpression changed. Surprisingly, it wasn’t one of anger but of confusion. Surprisingly, it was Mino who whirled to him with it.

"Say that again," the darker boy demanded with a scowl.

Seungri didn’t want to.

Mino gripped him by his wrists and frowned deeper. "Hyunnie, did you just say sex with Jiyong?"

He could do nothing but gulp and nod. He scooted backwards, eyes wide and afraid. He was so afraid of the stoic anger in Mino’s face that he subconsciously retreated. Mino was having none of it.

"Lee Seunghyun," his voice commanded, hard and frighteningly resolute. "You are not going to have sex with Jiyong! You are too young!"

Minho was suddenly on the bigger boy, pulling him by the shoulders as Seungri realized that he was on the floor. His heart was high in his throat with embarrassment, fear, surprise, and the heavy feeling of making a mistake. Tears prickled the corners of his eyes because he has never seen Mino’s face like this.

(Aside from the worst night of his life, aside from the night when he almost got raped. Mino’s face, Seungri belatedly realized, was so much scarier then.)

"Mino, come on now," Minho tried to persuade.

"No! Do you hear me, Seunghyun?! No!" Mino screamed.

"I... I," hiccupped Seungri pitifully.

"Shit," uttered Jimin.

Then Minho pulled harder. Then Mino pushed him away. Then Seungri tried to get up. Then Mino wouldn’t let him.

Then it all derailed from there.

In all honesty, Jimin had no idea what exactly happened next. It was all too fast and rambunctious that his eyes caught none of it. There was a lot of screaming and running and throwing of things and all of them slipped on something at one point and it all would have been so hilarious if Jimin didn’t want to cry instead.

Next thing he knew, Mino’s flimsy wife-beater was torn into uselessness at the front, a solid red hand print in the middle of his chest, Minho was soaked and dripping with sticky orange soda, head shoulders and all, and Seungri was holding the rods where Jimin’s curtains were supposed to hang, raised in a threatening manner.

 

 

 

Manners forgotten, Sungmin all laughed at them from the safe confines of distance and the computer screen. Seungri was still afraid; Mino was still angry; Jimin was pleading; Minho was rather amused. Sungmin all thought of them adorable and needlessly extra. He wished he were there to have witnessed it all.

"All because Seungri wanted to have sex?" he clarified with a snicker. His stomach hurt.

"Yup," Minho simply sighed.

"To be fair," Jimin weighed in, "we thought it would be Minho who’d act violently."

"I still don’t approve it!" announced Mino.

"Sungmin-ah," whined Seungri. "Help me, please."

Sungmin hummed. It was a mistake on their part to think so, he thought. It was definitely Mino who would have gotten mad.

All of them talked to Sungmin about their days, possibly without each other’s knowledge. Perhaps it was the comfort of distance that allowed them to – the settling idea that Sungmin was a viable ally, one that wouldn’t judge them, yet would tell them when they’re wrong and help with solutions. Perhaps it was because Sungmin was always ready to listen and that he was a year older, a year wiser.

Whatever it was, it was Sungmin who knew most about their activities, even if he was the one physically farthest away. He knew about Jimin’s struggle with his lack of sexual interest with girls or boys. He knew about Minho’s struggle with his parents subtly pressuring him about becoming a doctor when he wanted to get into sports. He knew about Mino’s constant struggle to refuse his leader’s suggestion to sell drugs.

He knew about Seungri’s sickening experience last year.

He knew how much Mino blamed and hated himself for it.

All the _I should have known’s_ and _It was all my fault’s_ was so heartbreaking, Sungmin cried from the helplessness.

Point was, Sungmin knew. And he understood why Mino was against it.

Mino would always protect Seungri.

Still, it wasn’t like he had the same thoughts. This was Kwon Jiyong, for Christ’s sake. If the YG trainee was still willing to spend at least two hours everyday just to spend school with Seungri, then Sungmin was willing to let them be.

That dude passed up the chance to be with the hottest girl in school just to be with Seungri. And he hadn’t even confessed then.

Sungmin huffed. "What did you want help with, baby girl?" he allowed. "Mino’s just being a fathead. Don’t listen to him."

Mino squawked. Seungri sniffed.

"I want to have sex with Jiyong, Minnie," Seungri easily explained, simultaneously berating himself for not thinking of it sooner. Sungmin was proud of how close they were that the younger was able to. "But I don’t know how."

Sungmin laughed. Seriously, that was his problem? Seungri had nothing to worry about after all. Ridiculous! If this was what it all stemmed from, then Jimin was right to be frustrated. Very, very ridiculous!

"What do I do?" groaned Seungri, pouting his unnecessary concern.

Sungmin laughed harder. There was only one thing Seungri should do, to be honest.

"Just open your legs, Seunghyun-ah," he giggled.

Really, there was nothing else.


	15. Chapter 15

He wanted to kill Youngbae.

Fuck that he was his best friend. It was all self-proclaimed anyway. Seungri was his best friend.

_He’s your boyfriend, he can’t be your boyfriend_ , he had said.

_We’re a unit; we’re supposed to be best friends_ , he had said.

_Bullshit!_

If he wouldn’t stop laughing, Jiyong was without a doubt going to consider homicide.

"Youngbae," he warned, not adverse to the idea of kicking the other boy’s head in.

They were in one of the smaller meeting rooms of the company, waiting for their president to arrive. Yang Hyunsuk had called them in for something, and they had no idea what. They just had their monthly assessment three days ago, and the boss had already given his comments.

Jiyong should have been worried, but he had other, more pressing things on his mind. And that was how Youngbae ended up being asked how sex with two guys went and almost laughing his lungs out. It was definitely not how Jiyong imagined asking his _bestfriend_ about it.

It wasn’t like Jiyong didn’t know _how_ to have sex either. Whatever possessed his stupid head to ask his Christian friend is beyond him. He should probably have it found and killed.

"Youngbae," he tried again. "Youngbae, I swear to God–"

Hyunsuk walked in, making the two boys jump to their feet and bow.

The man hummed for them to sit and took his own. The mood in the room shifted.

"How are your trainings?" the man asked, voice as smooth as a father’s asking about his child’s grades.

"They’re all right, sajangnim," said Youngbae.

"And you, Jiyong?"

"Good sir."

Hyunsuk hummed. The air felt thick. Jiyong and Youngbae weren’t too bad of a pair. They followed company rules as much as they could. Rarely were they called in because of trouble. Although they were never praised, they were also told that they couldn’t be praised because they’ve set the bar too high, that praising them would get them a big head, and all that the man has ever wanted for them was continuous growth.

It all sounded like bullshit to Jiyong but he wasn’t about to bomb his chances.

"I’ll make this brief," the president said, and that was how those meetings usually went. "I have good news for you."

And their hearts sang because that only meant one thing.

"We’re going to prepare for your debut."

Youngbae choked. Jiyong held his breath. There had to be more.

"It won’t be soon," the man continued, "Maybe a year from now, definitely after the both of you graduate."

"Really, sajangnim?" Jiyong breathed. This was it. This was his dream. Youngbae looked to him and his feelings were the same.

The man gave a small nod. "I’m giving you a great opportunity; I trust that you both are ready."

The boys gave him enthusiastic bows.

"However, your debut wouldn’t be like the other’s," he went on to explain. "Ordinarily, most groups debut with song they hadn’t had a hand on. Your duo would be debuting with two of your own tracks. How that does sound?"

"Sajangnim," Youngbae whispered, thankful and doubtful at the same time. "Wouldn’t that be... difficult?"

He glanced again at Jiyong for confirmation. Jiyong agreed. Of course it would be difficult. Creating a song at least good enough... Jiyong couldn’t wrap his mind around it. They were only both sixteen, for goodness’ sake.

The man gave them a smile, encouraging, which was honestly a little bit weird. "You’ll have the help of our producers," he said. "But you could pull it off. Our Jiyongie here was recruited for his composing skills, after all."

The trainee rapper could only bow in gratitude. "Thank you, sir," he said, not knowing what else to say. Youngbae followed suit.

"All right, then," the man dismissed, posing to get up. Before he got out the door, he remembered.

"Jiyong," he addressed. "Your schedule would be tighter from now on. I suggest you switch schools for your last year."

Jiyong felt a part of his joy turn cold.

 

 

 

“Hey, Ji,” Youngbae called as soon as Jiyong entered their dorm. He had just come back from calling his mother about the debut. She couldn’t be happier.

Youngbae was playing a game on the console Jiyong brought from home. Most of the luxuries they had in their dorm were Jiyong’s. Youngbae’s family wasn’t that well off. The dancer repaid him by doing most of the cooking.

Seungri was still better.

Jiyong tipped his chin as he threw his phone on the couch. Seungri was probably still in training. He’d drop a call later. “Sup?”

Youngbae didn’t take his eyes off the game when he asked, “Think Seungri’s makin’ you anything anytime soon?”

Jiyong rolled his eyes.

“Maybe a few cookies? Or a cake like that one he made you take on your birthday,” Youngbae went on, relentless. “Pretty sure if you tell him about the debut, he’d bake us a whole bakery.”

Their dorm was a nice one, in the middle of Seoul and within walking distance from the YG building. It could easily fit a five-member group, but they were to be a duo. The space was wide and the place was comfortable. Furnished well enough, they had not needed to bring anything. They didn’t really have anything to complain about.

Jiyong hopped onto the black leather couch and watched Youngbae play. “We’re on a diet, Bae-ah. More so now that we would actually debut.”

The slightly older boy snorted, “Like that hasn’t stopped you from hoarding his food before.”

“I don’t hoard. They were all for me anyway,” said Jiyong indignantly.

Youngbae threw the wireless controller at the owner, laughing, “You literally hid the note that said the jar of cookies was my birthday gift!”

Jiyong threw the controller back, irritated immediately. He had close to no tolerance with that sort of shit. “Why do you get a birthday gift, anyway?! He’s _my_ boyfriend.”

“Oh, God,” snickered Youngbae. “Oh, God, you’re possessiveness is killing me.”

Jiyong knew that Seungri and Youngbae were getting close. It started with the younger thanking and asking Youngbae to take care of Jiyong. Jiyong thought it was embarrassingly sweet. Youngbae took to the duty with fun, not letting Jiyong get away with anything much, but he was bribable with Seungri’s food, like most of their friends.

_Friends,_ Jiyong scoffed.

Youngbae was not Seungri’s friend. All Seungri needed was him.

“Just so you know where you stand, Youngbae-ah,” clarified Jiyong. “Can’t have you grabbing what’s mine.”

Youngbae went back to the game. He’d heard that line a thousand of times. He wasn’t Jiyong’s bestfriend for nothing. The rapper had nothing to worry about, honestly. Youngbae didn’t know what he got his panties in a bunch for. Youngbae was straight. Jiyong was pretty enough to turn any man regardless. And yet he hasn’t.

So screw Jiyong and whatever he was uselessly thinking of him.

“Whatever man,” he heavily sighed. “Just get me the damn cookies.”

And that was a sentence Jiyong didn’t think he’d ever hear.

“Besides,” Youngbae continued, “you need to cash that value in. You won’t get much love muffin next year.”

Jiyong couldn’t help the laugh, “What is that supposed to mean?”

The dancer shrugged, eyes set on the screen as a new round began. “You know,” he said, like Jiyong was supposed to know. “You’ll be studying your last year here. I’m guessin’ you’ll only be able to get back home once a month... if you’re lucky.”

“Hold up,” Jiyong alarmed, actually raising his hand like a police officer. He almost wanted to blow a whistle at the suggestion. “That’s not happening. Not even a little bit. Like at all.”

Youngbae’s small eyes went wide. He turned to his supposed duo to stare at him in disbelief. “That’s suicide,” he cried after a while as his character died on the screen. “You know damn well we can barely breathe right now with all the activities YG is makin’ us do to get experience. He’s locking us both in the studio all day, Ji. You cannot possibly not consider not going!”

“Seungri needs me,” Jiyong murmured, sitting up and collecting his phone from the other end of the couch.

“You’re insane,” Youngbae settled to say, knowing just as much as the rapper that it was the other way around.

 

 

 

As far as ordinary days went, it was one of the normal ones, if his days could ever be counted as normal, that is.

He would wake up half past five just so that he could make the hour-long train ride back to Chuncheon. He was supposed to use the hour making his assignments, but he’s been busy until late at night recently to work properly on them.

When he started training, he realized what a cutthroat business the idol world was. He’d seen trainees come and go, some given a chance to debut but the public was sometimes so harsh most of them barely lasted more than five years. Still, he wanted it, and in the face of adversity, he thought he could let go of education in face of his dreams. His parents certainly didn’t approve. Seungri would, without a doubt, be disappointed.

He used to get the highest grades, but with neither time nor focus, his grades slipped.

_As long as he passed:_ that was the only requisite his parents had for him.

_As long as it makes you happy:_ that was all that was important to Seungri.

He was lucky. He had all the support he needed to focus on his dreams and grab it.

And yet,

_And yet,_

The idea of being away from Seungri made him want to run away. If Jiyong were to be honest, the idea of university with Seungri was most appealing. To dorm with him, find their paths together, figure life out, have fun and learn: he wanted that, dreamt of it during the nights when he missed home too much, felt too insecure, cold and weary.

He’d told Seungri, but the boy told him not to be ridiculous. He had to be reminded that he had a chance-of-a-lifetime in his fingertips.

Jiyong failed to tell him that that chance to him was _Seungri_.

The image of Seungri fading away from him made him sick.

And he thought that he would break into irreparable, unrecognizable pieces if that were to happen.

He’d get to class, barely being able to remember what the previous lesson was, but Seungri would already be at their table, armed with a cup of yoghurt or something else tasty and light, and Jiyong would remember that he forgot to eat breakfast. Sometimes his notebook would already be opened if they had an assignment. Always, Seungri was armed with a secret kiss.

He’d be able to get through his morning classes with Seungri’s help.

During lunch, his love would feed him because there was no way Jiyong would have the time to pack his own lunch. His money would stay in his pocket considering that Seungri made the effort and that his food was better than any of the crap the cafeteria sold.

They’d talk. They’d kiss. They’d catch up.

Seungri would laugh. Jiyong would smile.

Seungri would tell him how much he loved him and how happy and proud he was of Jiyong everytime.

Jiyong would save what money he could in spite of the daily travels and food expenses and the expensive beauty standard an idol had to keep up with.

He had no idea what to get with it, yet he was certain who it would be for.

He’d be able to get through his afternoon classes with Seungri’s help.

He’d be picked up by his father. Sometimes Seungri would join them. Sometimes Seungri would leave them alone for a much needed quality time, even if it were just for a few minutes, long enough to take him back and wait for the train (just as how his mother had picked him up from the station to school).

After school, his training would revolve around a strenuous mixture of voice lessons, rap training, dance class, and studio time when he would either hang with experienced producers to learn or produce a song on his own. Every night he was tasked to send Hyunsuk any two of lyrics, a melody, or a chorus, a bridge, a verse or anything.

More was demanded from him than Youngbae in terms of the creative process, but Youngbae had to keep up with his dancing and vocal prowess. They only had each other as a duo.

He’d crawl into bed most often than not at one in the morning, four hours before he had to wake up again.

Sometimes his body would be too exhausted and he’d sleep through his alarm and classes. It had been happening more recently.

Always, Seungri would greet him goodnight with a calming message of _I love you_.

Always, Seungri would greet him good morning with an encouraging message of _I’m here for you._

He’d be able to get through his day with Seungri.

 

 

 

December rolled in and Hyunsuk was not kidding when he said that their schedules would be more taxing than ever.

Nothing was working. All his songs were shit and it frustrated him to the core. Even he could tell. None of the things he has written so far sounded good in the slightest bit, even to him. They weren’t just bad, they were nauseatingly horrible he wanted to jump in a ditch and die.

Or maybe just cry his eyes out like he did last night because that was the less dangerous option.

Hyunsuk took notice – and how could he not when Jiyong looked as bad as felt, which was so nauseatingly horrible he looked like he jumped in a ditch and died – and gave the two boys an earlier and longer holiday vacation.

He found himself in Seungri’s room, as the younger made them hot chocolate to sip on. He was supposed to be picking a movie to watch. But, truthfully, he was so full from the dinner Seungri prepared for them that all he wanted to do was sleep.

Seungri’s parents had gone to the company Christmas party, as they had to every year. Next weekend, they were holding their annual Christmas get together. Dami, for the first time, was going to bring her boyfriend along. Their mothers were going to preapre a welcoming meal for the boy, and Jiyong almost threw a tantrum because they never did that for Seungri or him.

The girls just laughed at that. They were basically family now anyway.

He backtracked to his thoughts and realized that Seungri had _parents_ now. His mother had gone and gotten herself married and Jiyong, sadly, wasn’t able to attend the ceremony.

Come to think of it, he’d missed a lot of things due to training. There were birthdays and a few family outings. He was unable to watch any of Seungri’s matches. Neither was he able to participate in any school activity.

Then, of course, there was Seungri who had him feeling guilty with the loyalty he seemed to possess.

Jiyong knew he lacked; he knew that he was neglecting the boy who held his heart and he didn’t know what to do half the time. He didn’t have the time, was the thing, and the thought just frankly made him sick and disgusted with himself.

Jiyong just wanted to repay Seungri back for all of his efforts. He couldn’t have Seungri leaving him once the younger boy realized that he could find someone who could attend to him better, who could always be there for him – someone who wouldn’t just up and go to a school in Seoul just because it was more _convenient_.

His stomach was squeezed by arms that wound so tight around his torso. Seungri bit him on the neck.

“Ow, what the fuck?!” Jiyong laughed, hand shooting to the juncture wet with saliva. He hadn’t known he was standing beside the bed, staring into space until he turned to the offending boy.

And by offending, he meant, _yes, offend me more._

He pushed Seungri down on the bed and climbed over him, pinning him down with his arms and legs as the other boy laughed in delight. He attacked Seungri’s neck in retaliation, lips teasing, teeth nipping, tongue lapping up in stripes.

They’d done this before; Seungri was a needy lover and Jiyong was always wanting to touch. He wasn’t about to play the innocent card when he’d dreamt of Seungri in the darkest ways when he was still fourteen, when they were still both too young.

And he thought that they were still too young but he couldn’t care less when Seungri wanted him as much as Jiyong did and all that really mattered was consent.

There was a promise to be fulfilled, now that Seungri was fifteen.

“Jiyong,” Seungri breathed, and the older took it for the invitation that it was.

His fingers deftly skimmed over the younger’s skin, grazing the middle of his chest as he lifted up the shirt. He bunched the cloth under Seungri’s chin, mouthed at his nipple that had the younger arching of the bed.

Seungri’s moan sounded perfect in his ear, and Jiyong couldn’t get elation like it anywhere else. Seungri responding to him did things inexplicable, made his heart race and body shake with profound intensity. He wanted more. He _needed_ more.

He craved for Seungri to crave him like he was indispensable.

“Strip for me, babe,” Jiyong breathed. “And get yourself comfortable.”

They’d done this before, but they haven’t gone all the way.

Jiyong didn’t know for sure, but with all that Seungri has given him, he just wanted to give all of him back.

He locked the door and turned off the light as he heard the rustle of Seungri’s clothes being taken off. The room plunged into a darkness that made Jiyong calm.

“Jiyong?” Seungri called, so soft and so close, within tempting reach and Jiyong no longer needed to restrain himself. He wanted Seungri to feel good. He wanted Seungri to feel great with him.

He padded over to Seungri’s bedside table. He switched on the light of his lamp, basking them both in a soft, sensual aura, perfect as it always was.

Seungri looked up to him shirtless, caramel skin soft and smooth, creating delicious shadows over taut muscles. The lines of his body weren’t buff, not like some of his teammates were, but Seungri was fit.

Jiyong was more defined in the way that his cuts were more prominent.

The trainee took off his shirt slowly, knowing full well that his love’s eyes were glued on him. Followed by the rest of his clothes, soon he was bare, adorned with nothing but the silver bracelet on his wrist and the stud on his ear.

Seungri audibly gulped. Jiyong smirked.

With one knee on the mattress, Jiyong moved to his lover, fingers on the band of the younger’s obstructing shorts. Seungri was breathing hard, as he tended to do whenever Jiyong got anywhere near topless and sensual, let alone fully naked. Jiyong trailed his lips on the top of Seungri’s shoulders and pecked him by the corner of his mouth.

Seungri clutched him at his nape. “Stop teasing,” he growled. “I’ve been waiting so long for this.”

Jiyong chuckled in response. In one smooth movement, Seungri was wholly exposed.

Hard with their hearts beating just as strongly, painfully so in anticipation, more for one another than the release, when Jiyong kissed his way back up, they were beautiful. Jiyong’s healthy flesh blended with Seungri’s light caramel. Their breaths and lips, cheeks and tongues, they mingled so closely, intimately.

“Hold on,” whispered Jiyong, breaking the kiss and rummaging for something in his bag beside the bed. Seungri almost groaned in agitation if he hadn’t seen the bottle of lube and the condom packet.

Seungri smirked. “We’re just going to get to it, then?” he teased, wriggling in anticipation.

“Is there anything else you’d like to do beforehand?” sassed Jiyong back, effectively doing away with all the nervous tension, replaced with an assurance that this was comfortable – this was _them_.

“Hell, no,” scoffed Seungri honestly, colorful vocabulary and all. “If you make me wait anymore, I’m going to tie you up and do it all myself.”

Jiyong hummed. “Why not?” he challenged, popping the bottle open nevertheless. “But I think we should start with the basics first.”

Jiyong straddled the younger boy. Seungri spread his legs wider as his lover poured lube over his fingers, warming them up before reaching down. Seungri expected the cold wetness, for Jiyong’s coated fingers to slide between his cheeks and probe in between. It didn’t come. Instead, Jiyong let out a lewd moan and when Seungri looked up, he choked.

_Fuck, fuck_.

Jiyong was beautiful. He had his head thrown back, body arched into a tight bow. The lines of his body were almost aesthetic, practically art, and eternally hypnotizing. He fell forward sharply, clawing at Seungri’s chest as he braced himself on his knees, fingers deep within himself. Seungri’s throat dried.

“J-ji,” he stuttered, unable to finish the name. “What are y-you doing?”

“Prepping,” Jiyong sighed, strained and forced amidst the sultry groans. He bent down and bit at the angle of Seungri’s neck. “I need to open up before I let you in, you know?”

Seungri would have smacked him for the pun if it weren’t for his short-circuiting brain. “W-what?”

“Would you like to help me?” invited Jiyong, chest heaving directly on top of Seungri’s. Their skins never left each other for more than a few seconds.

Jiyong reached for the lube and placed it on the younger’s hand. Seungri flipped them over. Repeating what he saw Jiyong did, the older’s entrance wasn’t as tight as he’d expected, mostly from the work already done.

“Try going in for two,” Jiyong guided with a lick of his lips and Seungri followed. “There’s supposed to be a spot that feels good. Press for it, Ri.”

Jiyong’s whole body felt hot. Seungri was obeying diligently, pressing his pads into him, making the older feel everything. His mouth yearned to bite, hands craved to claw the skin on Seungri’s back. Then his lover went in for three, making him stumble to catch his breath.

“Seungri,” he whined, his member an angry red from wanting so much.

Seungri was staring at him with a curious intensity, intriguing, wondering, “Does it feel good?”

Jiyong didn’t get to answer.

Seungri pressed a little firmer and Jiyong’s heart stopped. “There,” he cried out, his sight turning into blackness as he screwed his eyes shut.

Seungri pressed into him again, exactly like before, and the moan gushed from Jiyong’s chest without invitation. “Fuck,” he lamented, as Seungri kept pressing and pressing him into pleasure. “Fuck!”

Seungri moved his leg over his shoulders and Jiyong made the mistake of opening his eyes. His lover licked at the tip of his cock before sucking at the head. Jiyong felt like he could die.

The image of Seungri sucking him, while the feel of his fingers was deep inside, burned in his skull. He felt close – so close, and he saddened. He didn’t want it to end so soon.

And it wasn’t like Seungri was miraculously skilled. It was just they were both inexperienced and the new sensation was overwhelming Jiyong’s body. That, and having Seungri this intimately close was feeding his hungry soul full.

“Seungri, baby,” he cried, tossing the foil packet at his lover. “Fuck me, come on, please.”

Seungri’s pupils were blown as the older begged. But he took a deep breath and hesitated. They may have done things before, but it was never in Seungri’s favor.

Jiyong was reminded how the younger always turned him down, how Jiyong was always the one who received head or the quick handjob in the boy’s bathroom, how Seungri always managed to convince him that he was fine, that he didn’t need to get off when Jiyong would grab for the front of his pants.

It was frustrating, to say the least, and he wasn’t letting Seungri get away this time.

Jiyong reached to him and smiled, “Relax, it’s going to be just fine.”

It had to be. Seungri couldn’t stop now, not when Jiyong felt _so good_.

Jiyong watched as Seungri tore the foil and wrapped his erection.

Seungri looked different. The lines of his face were drawn into a frown, the lack of enthusiasm opposite from when he had asked Jiyong how it felt. But Seungri drove gradually into him nevertheless and his mind blanked, filled with the sensation of Seungri filling him up.

“Is this okay?” asked Seungri, moving as slowly as possible so Jiyong could adjust.

Jiyong managed a strained, “A little weird,” as Seungri moved inside him, thrust firm enough to look for that spot that made Jiyong want to cry.

He hit it soon after and Seungri bit his lips. The look on his face was so conflicted and Jiyong didn’t need that right now.

He pulled his lover by the back of his head, making him bury his face by his neck. His legs slipped from the Seungri’s shoulder and Jiyong wrapped them around his waist, locked, keeping them in place.

“Faster,” Jiyong breathed because he felt so good. “Harder, please, Seungri-ah.”

Seungri’s panting was loud beside his ear and there he was. “Keep talking,” he demanded and pleaded. “I need to hear your voice.”

“Shit,” cried Jiyong, so turned on and elated. Seungri was ramming into him, heeding the request for a faster pace, harder thrusts, and Seungri was good at keeping his aim.

Their bodies were slicked with sweat and the heat was almost unbearable, hottest at the pool in his stomach that wanted to find release. Seungri bit at his ear and Jiyong cried. “You feel so good,” he couldn’t help but say. “Just like that, baby. Don’t stop.”

Seungri wasn’t as loud, practically soundless if not for his heavy and strained breaths and the loud slapping his hips were making with the rest of Jiyong’s backside.

And, _fuck_ , those sounds edged Jiyong on into destruction.

Seungri kept sliding into him, in and out and hitting just the right spot, exactly on the bundle of nerves that sent shivers up Jiyong’s spine, spreading through the rest of his body, making all of him quiver.

Jiyong was close.

“So close,” Jiyong voiced out. And Seungri grabbed for his cock, pulled it in the still limited way he knew how his lover liked it. It was overwhelming. Jiyong felt like he couldn’t breathe. Sounds were spilling from his mouth and he didn’t know if they were words or curses, whines or sighs, or maybe Seungri’s name, but they filled the room and drenched them with the melody of true love and intimate sex.

“Cum for me,” Seungri said, and it had Jiyong spilling onto Seungri’s hand, body convulsing with the best type of pleasure, Seungri still deep in him, riding him through.

Jiyong was breathing hard when Seungri pulled out. He had slipped the condom from his dick and threw it in the trash bin. Jiyong should have told him to tie the ends, but he was distracted. Seungri hadn’t gotten off.

Jiyong pushed him to the bed and the younger made a futile protest. Wrapping his hand around Seungri’s member, he’d made quick tugs as he licked at Seungri’s mouth. His lips moved with his hand to leave hickeys on Seungri’s neck, marks on Seungri’s chest, claims on Seungri’s shoulders.

“Jiyong,” Seungri begged.

Jiyong felt bothered. He wanted to make Seungri feel as good as the younger made him feel. He offered himself because he thought that would make the younger feel great, didn’t want Seungri to go through the uncomfortable sensations of being prepped and entered the first time.

Then his fears dissipated when Seungri came in his hand, without warning but that was fine. Great relief flooded through him because of Seungri’s labored breathing.

He chuckled, giddy with the sudden elation of seeing what they’d actually done together. Seungri looked so pretty with a flushed chest, looking like he can barely breathe. Jiyong was leaning down when he was shoved aside, Seungri muttering “Shit, bathroom,” under his breath.

Jiyong hummed a smile. Their supposedly hot chocolates were perfectly cold on the night stand.

 

 

 

Lingering at the back of his mind, Jiyong wondered if Seungri felt as good as he did. He was sure that the guilty expression on Seungri’s face when he got back from the bathroom meant nothing.


	16. Chapter 16

Jiyong had written a lot of songs in his young seventeen years of life. But he realized, the best ones, he’d written about Seungri.

 

 

 

 

 

A year ago, during the night they first had sex, Jiyong and Seungri lay in bed, under the covers, side by side, their hands intertwined.

It was then that Seungri first told him to go.

It was then that Jiyong promised he would stay.

It made Jiyong’s heart break even though he knew Seungri meant well.

“Please, Seungri,” he desperately said in the cold December night. “You don’t understand.”

Seungri tilted his head to the side, a sign that, yes, he didn’t.

Jiyong took a breath and kissed Seungri squarely on the lips. “I’ll do anything to stay with you.”

Seungri pinched him on the nose and pushed his face away. Jiyong was being ridiculous. “We’re not breaking up, idiot. You’re just going to study in Seoul.”

“Seungri, I am an idiot–”

“I just said that.”

“–and I know how much of acrappy boyfriend I’ve been–”

“Good.”

“–I’ve neglected you and I’ve hid things from you but I already promised to change–”

“I know, thank you.”

“–I also know it sounded like an empty promise, and I have been trying–”

“That’s what it’s called?”

“–but the long distance will just kill us. We’ll see less and less of each other and I need you–”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, isn’t it?”

“Oh, shut up, will you? I’m being serious here!”

Seungri laughed, loose and light, making the tense atmosphere all right. He snuggled closer to Jiyong, clutching his shirt even if he preferred the material on the floor.

“Jiyong-ah,” he sighed. “I love you too. Enough to understand that this is what you need to do.”

_I need you_ almost fell once more from Jiyong’s lips, but Seungri sat up.

“Tell you what,” he conspired. “You take your last year in Seoul. Please your parents, your boss, and even your duo, and I promise to go to a university there.”

Jiyong’s eyes bulged. He sat up quickly in excitement. He loved that idea. That meant, “We can live together, right?”

Seungri hummed. “Don’t idols live together in dorms?”

“Then live with us!”

“That’s really not a good idea.”

“It’s a great idea!”

Seungri rolled his eyes. “How about I promise to live somewhere discreet and off campus? I’m sure my father can afford something satisfactory. He owns a company, you know?”

Jiyong laughed, already used to Seungri’s attitude of princely privilege when it came to his father’s money. To be fair, Seungri never splurged on just trivial things. Then a lightbulb dinged above his head in the metaphorical sense.

“You might not need to,” he almost screamed. “I’ve got an apartment under my name which my dad uses whenever he’s needed at main office.”

Seungri raised an eyebrow. “You do?”

“Yeah,” confirmed Jiyong eagerly. “I mean, my parents bought it but they placed it under my name. Said it was mine when I wanted it. You could live there. I’m from a family of lawyers, you know?”

Seungri laughed. His boyfriend was undeniably adorable when he was excited. He never knew the possibility of living together could get him so happy. It was really a sight to see.

“So, Seoul?” he asked instead, meaning Jiyong’s final high school year.

“Seoul,” Jiyong promised, meaning further into the future.

 

 

 

 

 

So they’ve spent a year apart, and it wasn’t as bad as both of them thought it would be.

His grades had stopped being a problem. Apparently, the school Youngbae went to took on so many idols it had the curriculum friendly to their schedules. His graduation was on sight. There was no doubt about it.

Having the time and luxury to worry less on his studies and focus more on his career, he was able to worry less when he went home.

That meant positive stories to tell his family.

That meant his time was spent on Seungri.

That meant… well, there was a reason Seungri was his muse.

 

 

 

 

 

Jiyong felt overworked and fulfilled at the same time. His dreams were coming true; he was making songs. He thought he couldn’t be more thankful.

Until Hyunsuk called him into his office and told him to rearrange _Stay With Me_ all by himself, and make Youngbae sing all of Chaerin’s parts. He’d never admit it to the girl, but he thought it sounded so much better.

The strategy was, before their official debut, they’d release three songs in the span of three months. They’d tour, make small appearances and make their names known for a month after, and officially debut. As it was, they were already making a name for themselves. YG hasn’t produced any new artist during the past two years.

The first song they released as an unofficial duo was _Stay With Me_ , sweet and totally RnB. It captured the hearts of any girls without any cutesy gimmick. Jiyong was surprised with how well-received it turned out being.

What surprised him the most, however, was Seungri’s reaction.

 

 

 

He’d made sure to be there to see it when the MV was out. Despite his busy schedule, he made the more than an hour long trip just to spend around four hours with his boy, then get back the same day. He just really wanted to be there for Seungri’s reaction.

The MV was released three days prior, but Jiyong made him promise to wait until they were together.

When Jiyong made it to Seungri’s home, he was immediately pounced on. He fell to the ground with a thud and a breathless laugh, cut off as Seungri deeply kissed him with fervor.

Well, Jiyong had no plans to refuse that.

Seungri was practically sat on top of him when he pulled away. “I’m so sorry,” he said, but Jiyong might have been a little too distracted about the way Seungri’s lips glistened wet. “I know about the song. They kept playing it in school and I’d recognize it anywhere. But I promise I haven’t watched it.”

And that was all right by Jiyong.

He might have been placated by the fact that Seungri was sat on him.

So they hurried to Seungri’s room, the house as empty as Jiyong remembered. Seungri’s laptop was already propped on the bed, paused on some anime Seungri was fond of.

Something about the basketball which someone plays. Jiyong couldn’t quite remember.

Anyway.

He tucked Seungri by his side as he went on YouTube. GDYB was still trending; he beamed.

The sounds of piano immediately started playing, Youngbae’s voice clearer and steadier than Chaerin’s was more than three years ago. Jiyong had added verses, English words where there weren’t before. Piano keys filled the void that was previously inexistent. Jiyong’s rap was definitely better: hard when it needed to be hard, natural and good despite it not being too fast. Steady, just as Seungri’s heart had been. There had been an added bridge, Youngbae’s high notes taking the song where he hadn’t been before.

Jiyong watched as Seungri did in rapt attention. The rapper was proud of their first song, albeit it being quote-unquote unofficial. How could he be otherwise when it was written for his heart?

The video was a relatively simple one, filled with their duo singing and dancing to the camera, with the occasional mandatory scenes with each of them with a girl.

And this was what Jiyong made Seungri wait for. This was his surprise.

His female model was wearing the Christmas gift Jiyong gave him the previous year. Same design, same color, he had requested her wear. She was supposed to be Seungri, a symbol that Jiyong thought of him even in this, that Seungri were with him in everything he did.

An indication that his feelings for Seungri were still true, still so strong and grateful.

When it was over, Jiyong felt nervous. Seungri had been silent the whole time, and Jiyong hadn’t wanted to disturb his attention.

Seungri gently laid the laptop on his bedside table and blinked. Jiyong huffed.

“S-so,” he started nervously. “Did you like it?”

Seungri’s expression was unreadable. Jiyong could hear his heart beat loudly in his chest.

The Seungri pushed him down and climbed over him.

(Seungri tended to do that a lot. Jiyong rather loved the idea of Seungri being all over him.)

Seungri grabbed at his wrists as he bent over Jiyong, lining their upper bodies perfectly together, and the first place Seungri attacked was his neck, just abouve his right collar. _Attacked_ , really, that was what Seungri did. Jiyong was bit into harshly, and while he liked it rough, it was so overwhelming, Jiyong couldn’t breathe right.

“B-babe,” Jiyong gasped. He squirmed from underneath, but Seungri pressed his body lower, firmer into Jiyong. “Baby, wait.”

Seungri didn’t listen. He sucked harshly at Jiyong’s skin, blinded by some purpose. Jiyong was sure it was going to bruise beautifully blue.

“Riri, honey,” he tried again. “You can’t mark me.”

The younger suddenly shot up, leaving that particular spot on his lover’s neck, but the job was already done. “Why not?” he asked threateningly. His eyes narrowed into suspicious slits, cheeks twitching in irritation.

“I have schedules,” he excused.

Seungri surged down again, this time aiming for right under Jiyong’s left ear. “Make-up,” Seungri murmured.

“Seungri,” Jiyong gasped. His eyes fluttered closed. It didn’t take much to bowl him over with that idea. Seungri always won over everything else. He was, in fact, so in love with his childhood friend that he’d let him do anything.

When Seungri was satisfied, he hummed. “You look prettier now,” he whispered to himself more than anyone. The compliment was enough to have Jiyong’s blood burning hotter.

He lifted his torso off the bed to latch his lips to Seungri’s. As the younger kissed back willingly, all tongues and teeth, sloppy and wet, Jiyong pushed to top. In a feat of athleticism, Seungri maneuvered them back over.

“No, no,” he panted, as out of breath and fogged up as Jiyong was. “You stay. I’m punishing you.”

Jiyong’s gulp was anything but quiet.

It drove him crazy to have Seungri lust for him. It wasn’t so much as being manhandled; if anything, he liked it better when he was in control. But Seungri wanting him was as much as a turn on than anything else.

Seungri lusting over him was his unashamed kink.

Seungri dragged Jiyong’s hands over his eyes and once the darkness came. The older heard his breathing sharper. It was labored, like he’d just finished a five-hour training session. It was strained, like he’d just gone through a barely tolerable pain.

“Keep them there, Ji,” Seungri instructed as he took his own ands and glided them down Jiyong’s chest.

Ten fingers traced down his body to them hem of his shirt, thereafter lifting the fabric up to bunch below his chin. Light feathery kisses peppered his skin, starting from where his heart should be, in the middle of his chest, and downed temptingly low past his navel.

Jiyong bucked as Seungri tried to nip at the healthy swells of the v-cuts on his hips. Seungri lathered at them, giving them as much love as Jiyong knew the younger had. He’d been eyeing them for so long, it was possibly Seungri’s favorite part of his body.

Small chubby hands worked at his shorts and Jiyong lifted himself up so that his lover could take it off him.

Through the lines of his fingers, Jiyong watched. It wasn’t enough; he wanted to _see_ Seungri. He wanted to see his baby make a mess of him and love him and be comfortable enough to be intimate with him. So he moved his hand to clutch at the bed sheet, while the other flew to his mouth to muffle an indecent moan.

Seungri licked a long stripe from his balls to the tip of his shaft and the sight was as lewd as it was beautiful.

“Ha-aah,” Jiyong hissed, unable to help the shudder that ran up his spine. Seungri’s lips latched onto his tip and gave an unforgiving suck. The older thought he could have come right then and there.

His hand reached for the fluff of Seungri’s hair, meaning to push him further, or simply to caress, anything actually, just to feel more of this boy whose mouth just felt so good.

Seungri slapped his hand away, muttering a stern, “hands off.”

Jiyong watched. He squirmed as he watched his lover take him fully. It was warm and wet and deliciously dirty to see and hear Seungri lap him up, suck him dry with such enthusiasm. It was good, _so fucking good_ Jiyong was forgetting how to breathe. His breath stuttered to Seungri’s rhythm, as if they were the beats Seungri’s lips were dancing up and down his dick to.

Jiyong couldn’t help it, he was close. He wanted to touch and feel and connect with Seungri more.

“Seungri,” he cried, tight and breathy as he once again reached for the younger.

As soon as his fingers grazed his heart’s hollowed cheeks, he was deflected. The heat around his dick was gone with a popping sound.

“I swear, Ji,” Seungri griped, hoarse from how deep he took Jiyong in. “Touch me one more time and I’ll leave you to fend for yourself.”

Jiyong whined, “But why? Please, just–”

“Understand?”

The rapper struggled inwardly. There was no room for argument, and he really _really_ needed Seungri’s mouth back on him. “Yes,” he gave in. “Yes, please.”

And that was all Seungri needed to hear to get back at it. His hand played with Jiyong’s balls as the other held him down, restricting Jiyong from thrusting into his mouth, showing that Seungri wanted to service him all by himself, with everything he had.

Jiyong was about to burst. The sensations were holding him secure. His skin burned with the heat and his heart jumped with the excitement. His eyes were glued to the flush on Seungri’s cheeks as they sucked him dry, his brows as they furrowed in concentration, his lashes as they decorated his lover’s face with eyes hooded in lust.

His eyes, those innocent, deceitful eyes, looked up at him, watched him, like Seungri was an obedient little puppy that was eager to please his master.

And that was what pushed Jiyong over the edge, had him spilling his spunk into Seungri’s mouth without warning. The sort of power he could hold against Seungri caught him by surprise, giving him a sense of pleasure unrivaled.

A buzzing invaded his head as Seungri sucked him into completion, a warm smile gracing his face.

Clearly they were both satisfied.

And _fuck_ , Jiyong didn’t think he’d fall in love with this boy even more.

_Fuck_ , Seungri was too perfect to be real.

 

 

 

Jiyong laid in bed, waiting for the ringing in his head to subside. From the corner of his eye, he saw Seungri come back to the room after a quick trip to the kitchen for a glass of water and sit at his study table. Discreetly, the younger crossed his legs, but Jiyong knew what was under there.

“What are you doing way over there?” Jiyong asked, as low and sultry as he could. “Come back to bed.”

Seungri stared at him from the rim of his cup. His wide, slanted eyes beckoned Jiyong over. The weakness of the older’s knees felt good, a testament to just how good his orgasm was. Seungri was amazing, and he honestly struggled to think otherwise. _Fuck_ , he felt blessed.

_Fuck_ , all he wanted to do was hold Seungri close and _give back._

Jiyong couldn’t explain it. There was something remotely satisfying in satisfying Seungri. It gave him peace of mind, a sense of fulfillment different in all things else.

There was something dangerously more arousing in making Seungri cum than having Seungri fucking into him.

Jiyong stood and sauntered over his lover, pulling the shirt that has stuck to his skin with sweat off of him. He liked this. It made him giddy to have Seungri watch him so closely, track his every move.

The swivel chair bumped loudly against the wooden desk as Jiyong dropped himself on Seungri, legs wide and inviting. He was aware of blush that threatened to invade every inch of his skin, but he tried not to mind it. This was for Seungri. He wanted Seungri.

“Let’s do you this time,” he purred hotly to Seungri’s cheek. He gave him a light, quick peck. “And by that I mean you should do me.”

In the next second, Seungri was on the bed, just as Jiyong wanted.

Unfortunately, Jiyong found himself on the floor, ass aching, far from what he imagined things would go.

“Seungri, what the fuck?” he snarled, rubbing at his bottom.

The younger bristled. His eyes were wide and guilty and his voice was halting. “N-no. There’s no n-need f-for that.”

“Seriously,” Jiyong said. He stood back up and dusted himself off. “What is wrong with you?”

He couldn’t help the irritation in his voice. Rejection hurt, and it was damningly embarrassing. Seungri could have pushed him off gently like he always did, instead of pushing him off too harshly.

Seungri appeared adequately chastised. The lines of his body flowed from defensive to regretful. “I’m sorry,” he said, hanging his head in shame. He grabbed for his comforter and went to wrap it around Jiyong’s shoulders. “I didn’t mean to throw you off.”

Jiyong felt a little off-balance to have Seungri so close to him and didn’t want him physically. It was torturous. Jiyong was sure Seungri knew well how much the older liked to touch. He’d always offered, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why Seungri refused most of the time.

In the beginning, the excuses were fine. But as time went on and Jiyong kept on getting rejected, he started to think that maybe they were just complete bull.

“I did say you can’t touch, didn’t I?”

The snapped something inside Jiyong.

“Lee Seunghyun,” he sneered severely. “Are you cheating on me?”

Seungri looked up, surprised and fearful and _not guilty, please not that._

“No!” he managed quickly, choking the retort forcefully. His brows crunched. He pushed away. “How could you even think that?”

Jiyong wrapped the comforter around him snug, seeking whatever warmth he could because right then, he was feeling nothing but cold. “You were nervous, Seungri. Stuttering.”

The younger scoffed at him, looked at him as if he were stupid. Oddly, it made Jiyong feel relief.

“Well, duh,” Seungri said. “You were seducing me. You can’t just go around making me a mess and the blaming me for it. Don’t be rude.”

Oh. Okay. That made sense.

Still, “Then why wouldn’t you let me touch you? Are you guilty or something?!” he accused.

“Oh my god,” Seungri sighed, but Jiyong kept a close eye. “Oh my god, you’re the one who did me wrong and I’m guilty?!”

Jiyong startled. He saw. Seungri was agitated, offended, hurt. But at the same time, he was flustered… lie he’d nearly been caught, narrowly escaped.

Jiyong was still dizzied from the scare of being cheated on. He decided to let it go for now.

“What did I do wrong?” he asked instead.

Seungri sighed like Jiyong did the gravest sin in the world. “Kwon Jiyong,” he deadpanned, leaving no room for argument. “You made the girl in your music video wear my shirt and sang her my song. You fucking replaced me.”

The wheels on Jiyong’s brain turned. And, _ah, yes,_ he could see how Seungri got that idea.

“I… I,” he lamely rebutted, “she represented you, baby, not replace you.”

“You. Replaced. Me.”

“B-babe–”

“Replaced me, Jiyong. Don’t fight me on this.” Seungri actually raised his and up and pointed his nose to the side in haughtiest manner.

Jiyong choked. “I… I’m sorry,” was all he was able to say.

“You better be,” Seungri scoffed at him again. “I’m fine with you prancing around other girls, but don’t give them what’s supposed to be mine.”

Theoretically, Jiyong knew he should be apologetic – which he was, a little – but it was rather difficult to take Seungri seriously when his pout was so goddamn adorable the older wanted to smother him. He even puffed his cheeks out in indignation, making him look like a chipmunk more than a panda.

Blasphemous almost, he knew.

Seungri was so cute that Jiyong couldn’t help teasing further: “Babe, were you jealous?”

Seungri choked. He actually choked on his own spit and almost coughed his lungs out in shock. “No!” he cried futilely. “Like hell I’d get jealous!”

“Is that right?” Jiyong snickered, inching closer now that Seungri was as harmful as a hamster. “Not even a little bit?”

Seungri stumbled back. His knees hit the bed, sending him toppling on the soft mattress. “N-no! S-stay away!”

Jiyong merely chuckled.

“I’m warning you!”

“You’re really cute, Seungri-ah.” It was so easy to bend over, trap Seungri between the brackets of his arms and lean over him and let the comforter flow freely off his shoulders.

“J-jiyong!”

Then Seungri clenched his eyes shut, held his breath and looked away. He might have even shivered, but that couldn’t be. He couldn’t be… afraid of Jiyong, could he?

“Please,” the boy whimpered, and Jiyong sighed.

_What was it? What the fuck was wrong?_

He straightened back up and forced a smile on his face. “Just kidding!” he claimed, mind running a thousand miles per second. “A punishment is a punishment and I want to prove to you that you could never be replaced in my heart.”

Seungri cracked an eye and caught him with a suspicious glare. Shit, even to his ears the excuse was unbelievable. He couldn’t let the younger see that he was wearing the same expression so he turned, looked for his clothes, and got dressed.

It was quiet, unsettling, and pushed him off-kilter.

Then Seungri came bringing him back with a quiet, “I love you.”

Jiyong has known this boy for almost half his life; he was planning to spend the rest of it with him, if he were allowed. He was mature enough, or at least he had half a mind to recall that Seungri’s love for him was _true_. That even if he sounded so regretful and apologetic, that didn’t mean that he didn’t care as much as Jiyong did.

_Fuck_ , Seungri was kind enough to visit him in Seoul when he could, even if it were only for an hour, even if they didn’t see each other, even if it were only for the purpose of leaving food in his dorm so that he wouldn’t starve.

Seungri had the patience to text him even if Jiyong couldn’t reply, to listen even if he didn’t get the chance to talk, to love even if Jiyong struggled to show that he was loved back.

_Fuck_ , Jiyong tried, _fuck_ , he did.

And Seungri was kind enough to understand that this was what Jiyong had to do, and none of it meant that he was loved less.

Jiyong would be a fool to let something so small throw a wrench into their relationship and ruin it all.

Seungri _understood_ him. The least he could do was treat him the same.

Because Jiyong loved this boy, well and wholly did. So he turned back, smiled genuine and kind.

“Can I at least get a kiss?” he asked, hopeful, voice laced with apology. “Please?”

Seungri looked up in surprise, filled with the same hope and relief, love and everything true.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, of course you can.”

_Ah_ , Jiyong thought, _this is enough._

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

The solo Jiyong released was a sensational song called _Lies_. Great as it was, it showed off his singing chops besides his rap. Youngbae had skill in spitting verses too, but they each had their forte.

Seungri’s reaction wasn’t as _excitable_ as last time. More supportive than before, Seungri had felt no feelings of jealousy against Jiyong’s female partner. It really just was the sweater that triggered him.

On the upside, Seungri liked the track so much he was shameless about singing the chorus everywhere, even in front of the whole Kwon family while they were having dinner, to Jiyong’s humiliation.

On the upper side, Jiyong realized how Seungri’s voice was as sweet as he. Nothing on par with the singers in his label for sure, but it was something special to the rapper.

 

He vowed to take Seungri to the studio one day.

 

 

 

Youngbae’s solo was as RnB as it could get. Honestly, Jiyong was reminded so much of Ne-Yo when his self-proclaimed best friend wrote _Wedding Dress._ And that was when Jiyong knew that Youngbae was going to shine, even by himself. _Taeyang_ would be a brand marketable with a style distinctly of his own. The song was immediately well-liked, Taeyang was as much of an instant sensation as _G-Dragon_ was.

(And, yes, Jiyong did think the alias was lame, but Seungri had been infuriatingly insistent.)

The MV showcased every single one of Youngbae’s assets: his face, his voice, his body, his dance, and the fat potential of what more he could be.

Jiyong had little to no hand in this – Youngbae had been developing this song for around a quarter of the year – but ever since he got a gist of the song, Jiyong couldn’t take it out of his mind.

That was how good Youngbae was.

A brand, Jiyong was sure.

But the song affected him more than that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was a moment in every student’s life when they would feel freer than they’d ever been, happy and satisfied with all that they’ve done in their academic life.

Generally.

Seungri felt like the exception.

It was his graduation day, which was a good day for graduation: bright sun shining in his eyes, flowers in bloom coloring his life, soft wind bringing him the aroma of a future, the works. He had a diploma in his hand. His university was set. Frankly, all he had left to do was move out and that’ll be it. He should be happy, shouldn’t he?

Then why was he feeling anxious like this?

Minho wrapped a tight arm around his neck and pointed to the camera his mother was holding. Mino barreled into his other side and hooted, his messy newly-dyed green hair really messy. He’d thrown his graduation cap too strongly a while ago and had no idea anymore where it flew to.

_Smile_ , he told himself, _the anxiety you’re feeling is nothing, Seungri-ah. Smile._

As soon as the picture was taken, Jimin plastered himself into Seungri’s front. He pathetically whined, desperately wanted to be included and pleaded not to be left behind. It made Seungri scoff in amusement. At least he didn’t have it worst.

 

 

 

Their last year was a memorable one, probably the best. Minho ended up team captain, with Mino as his right hand. Although Jimin didn’t get to be starting five with the three of them, they did Champion Regionals and joined Nationals. Even though they didn’t get very far, it made them bond and forge their friendship stronger.

Seungri’s grades did fairly well, and he ended up getting into the same university as the two big men, with Sungmin. The eldest pulled some connections and he’d been able to give the boys a 25% varsity scholarship. It was an easy choice from there.

But, and this was what Seungri was troubling over, he hadn’t known what to take. He could have gone the obvious route and study Sports Science, but it didn’t really tickle his fancy. If only he had not put it off to the last minute, he might have made a more well thought out decision.

He ended taking up Social Media Communications.

It was an odd choice, even for him, but he shrugged it off. He would figure it out when he got there.

Minho was the one who chose Sports Science, with the possibility of continuing into Medicine. It wasn’t all so surprising. The guy was as sports-oriented as anyone could get.

Mino shook them most of all. Their aloof friend who barely got to class on time got in for Chemical Engineering, with a 50% scholarship _without_ Sungmin’s connections. They all stared at him when he announced the news. Mino shrugged it off. Jimin bubbled in jealousy.

Seungri’s phone rang.

He walked to a quieter portion of the grounds, waving to his mother to wait a moment.

“Hello?”

“ _Hi, babe,_ ” greeted Jiyong.

“Hello,” Seungri greeted back enthusiastically.

Jiyong chuckled. _“So? How was it?”_

“All right, rather hot. Wish I was naked under this toga.”

_“Kinky.”_

“Shut up.”

His boyfriend laughed. “ _Man, I wish I were there. I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it.”_

“Don’t be silly,” he smiled. “You have promotions going on.”

_“I’d still rather see you graduate.”_

Seungri laughed in response. “How’s Youngbae-hyung?”

In all honesty, Seungri _liked_ Taeyang. He was using the stage name here because he would never even begin to think of Youngbae that way.

But _Taeyang._ Oh, boy.

Taeyang was hot.

There were no other words, really. He wasn’t able to take his eyes off his screen ever since _Wedding Dress_ , and he sort of felt sorry to his boyfriends for liking his duo’s video better. Just the video, he swore. The songs were on par ( _Stay With Me_ would forever be his favorite).

But for all of Taeyang’s hotness, a jealous Jiyong blazed like the actual sun.

It made his insides tingle in the most addictive way, dark and not right. He knew that he shouldn’t encourage his boyfriend’s jealous tendencies. He knew. That didn’t mean he would do anything about it.

_“I don’t know. Youngbae could be dead, for all I care.”_

Seungri heard an affronted _Hey!_ in the background. He tutted at his boyfriend. “Ji, come on now. I’m only asking as a friend.”

_“I don’t know why. It’s not like he’s someone special or anything.”_

“Jiyong.”

_“Ugh, he’s alive. Thank you for asking, but he doesn’t want to talk to you.”_

“Kwon Jiyong.”

_“All right, fine, he does but I’m still not gonna let him ‘cause we’ve only got fifteen minutes ‘til we need to get on stage and I’m not spending that time listening to him talk to you.”_

Seungri blushed, content. “I love you too, you know.”

Jiyong chuckled. _“I know.”_

“Seriously, though. I’m not leaving you for your best friend. I have some tact.”

_“I’m not taking my chances here, Seungri.”_

“Oh, really?” Seungri giggled.

_“Yes, really. I have my plans set, you know? And keeping you as mine is a large part of that.”_

It was a terribly nice day for a compliment. He hadn’t seen his boyfriend in two months, which should be nothing compared to some trainees who weren’t able to see their parents for two years. However, he couldn’t make his heart stop missing him. It was terrible.

Graduating had made him realize more things than he was prepared for. They were growing up. They were moving on. And though they were taking life together, they might as well not have been. They went on out on dates, and Jiyong went back to Chuncheon whenever his schedule permitted, but there was only so much one could do in a long distance relationship. The only reason people knew that he was in a relationship with Kwon Jiyong was because the older was never shy about showing it whenever he did come to school. And still, the people who knew were few and far in between.

It was a struggle for Seungri who constantly felt like he was getting left behind.

He didn’t want to get left behind. But at the same time, he didn’t exactly know what was in store when he moved forward. He was lost, just as any person his age could be. Yet Jiyong was different. He had his _plans_ set out in front of him. He had goals, has practically reached his dream.

There was something comforting about Jiyong having plans for them. It made him feel secure that his boy was practically a reliable man. That, and a little bit lost because he was nothing like him. Seungri had no plans. He was just going through the motions and that bothered him a little.

He tried to talk to his mother about it, and she suggested Culinary Arts, but the university had not been offering the course. She suggested other courses, but unfortunately none really appealed to his interests. He had been so close to pulling his hair out in frustration, but he got distracted by Taeyang’s body rolls and that got him through his days.

He made the mistake (he said _mistakes_ because he couldn’t let Jiyong catch on with his addiction) of telling Jiyong, out of his overexcitement and fangirling moments, and look where that got him.

He was digressing. Point was, Seungri had no ideas what he wanted to do in his life, which sucked, but it wasn’t like life would stop for him. He had to move forward, and apparently he was taking a direction towards Social Media Communications.

_“It’ll be amazing,”_ his boyfriend went on. _“And with you getting into Social Media, you could work at SBS or something and we’ll be in the same industry!”_

Seungri hummed. “Yeah,” he replied, rather unenthusiastically.

_“Is something wrong?”_

“Uh, no. Not really,” he said. “It’s just… it’s just really hot in here.”

_“Don’t get naked, Riri.”_

“But I thought you wanted me naked?” he pushed on, a teasing smirk gracing his lips involuntarily.

_“Not when I’m not around.”_

Seungri huffed. _Of course_. “All right, all right.”

There was a comfortable pause, normal for the both of them who has talked with each other countless of times through phone and video calls.

Seungri saw his mother wave at him. They were having lunch with Mino, Minho, and their families. Friends for almost six years, and with their kids going to the same university in Seoul, it was easy and seemed only proper.

“I have to go, jagi,” he informed, letting out one of the many nicknames he had for Jiyong. “I’ll talk to you soon, yeah.”

Instead of answering, Jiyong startled. _“Wait, just a sec!”_

Seungri hummed, curious.

_“You…”_ Jiyong went, rather nervously. _“You’re coming this Saturday, right?”_

Seungri laughed. His Jiyongie was cute. “Yes, darling. Friday night, actually. Your dad said we’ll be travelling by car.”

There was a sigh of relief. _“Okay. I’ll be expecting you then.”_

“Yes, please do.”

Jiyong giggled. _“All right. I’ll talk to you soon. I love you.”_

“I love you.”

 

 

 

 

 

The Kwon’s apartment in Seoul was a three-bedroom, two-bath, spacey space in the twelfth floor of a prestigious complex Seungri was very much attracted to. He’s not going to kid himself and say that he wasn’t materialistic. He may not go splurging on everything, but he had a healthy appreciation for nice things.

And if all things went well, Jiyong was on the road to be set for life.

He actually was already set for life, what with his being from a family of lawyers, and his mother having her own successful business. Businesses now, actually. Seungri wasn’t poor,  nor were his finances average. His mother’s job was able to sustain them both well enough, but his step-father owning a company was the main reason of it all. And even if it was the man who moved in with them (he remembered throwing a fit about that), his life took a sudden luxurious turn.

What was his point?

Ah, right. The bathroom was splendid. Seungri had no other word for it. He figured that if he ever went to a five-star hotel, then this was what their bathroom would look like. He loved it. It was what caught his eye the most – and that was saying something because their kitchen was _lovely._ Essentially, Seungri wouldn’t mind drowning in their tub – if it wouldn’t scar them to see his dead body floating around in there, that is. He would at least give them that courtesy.

Anyway, the place was good, the people were better, and it was great to feel comfortable around your boyfriend’s family by yourself. It was a blessing, really, but it wasn’t all that great when he had to deal with the shit people like Kwon Dami had to put him through.

“Noona!” he screamed, embarrassed, exasperated, enlivened. “Get that fucking razor away from me!”

The woman inched the offending plastic closer to his legs. “Watch your mouth, Seunghyun-ah. Eomma’s just probably on the other side of this door listening in.”

Seungri scrambled further into the bathtub. “Eommonim! Save me!”

There was a muffled laugh on the other side, to Seungri’s horror. “No can do, Riri. This is for your own good.”

“But, why?” Seungri lamented. He had never shaved a body part in his life, aside from the facial hair, of course. He’d never found any reason to, even if he was rather hairy as a member of the male species. They were fine! They never bothered him before. They were innocent in the grand scheme of things and Seungri would have been fine if it were a little patch of hair like his eyebrows or something, but no.

Dami wanted to shave him _everywhere_.

Women were crazy, he thought. Head all up in the clouds with their wants and needs and he considered himself to be the one of the exceptions because Seungri had absolutely no fucking idea how the moment he stepped foot into their apartment, he was hauled and stripped to nothing but his boxers and shoved into the nearest bathroom with Dami and _razors_. That’s right, with an ‘S,’ and shit Seungri almost lost his mind.

Almost, if he weren’t so used to these women already. Hell, he wouldn’t even be the least bit surprised if his own mother was in on this.

(Six years later, he would find out it was her idea all along. Dami and Seonha were just minions happily following her orders.)

“Down, Dami, down!” he screamed, the woman in front of him looking like a maniac. “Down!”

They were so goddamn lucky he loved them so much.

“Seunghyun-ah,” she said sweetly. “Please stay still. You wouldn’t want me to accidentally nick you somewhere painful, would you?”

Seungri gulped. “No?”

“Good,” she smiled. “Let’s begin!”

Seungri screamed his throat sore.

He might have cried all the while, too, but that was a secret safely kept by the women of the household.

As far as he knew.

 

 

 

 

Okay, staring himself in the mirror, it wasn’t all that bad. Weird, but not bad. He was _smooth_ and the sensation was inexplicable. He felt like he was going to slip when he sat on a chair because, yes, _even there._ Thank God the hair on his arms were fine enough to be let alone, but his legs had never looked shinier in his life.

He flapped his arms about. He didn’t have basketball anymore so he didn’t have to worry about his hairless pits, and if he were to play, he could always throw a t-shirt on. It wouldn’t be a problem if he weren’t so awkward about it.

He hummed. Dami opened the door to what would be his room with Jiyong later on. “See,” she began. “It wasn’t all that bad, was it?”

Seungri refused to give her the satisfaction. “What was all this for anyway?” he asked instead, wrapping the towel tighter around his body.

She scoffed. Dami strutted over and yanked the thick piece of fluffy cloth away. Seungri was so glad he chose to bring his good pair of boxers. “No need for that. We’re both girls anyway, right?” she asked with a wink.

Seungri had no answer to that. “Noona, please. You’re making me want to jump on the next train back to Chuncheon.”

“You could try,” she hummed, eyeing Seungri’s body up and down. He was flushed. Red decorated his skin wonderfully, giving it life she knew Seungri hadn’t known how to appreciate yet. Her dongsaeng was by no means horrible. Pretty, really, if he knew how to clean up. For all he claims to be a girl, he surely treated himself like a guy. She inwardly sighed. That’s what happened when one hung out with basketball dudes all his life, she guessed. She had been right to make the younger take a long and thorough bath and get dirt out of every nook and cranny of his fine body. Oh, yes, those were the words she said. She was quite fond of her Riri’s reaction. He was a gem. “But there are no more trains and you’re gonna explain to Jiyong why you’re not there tomorrow.”

It was interesting to see the red creep up higher on Seungri’s chest. _Undeniably pretty_.

The boy puffed his cheeks, and though they were of the same height, he could help but feel smaller than her. She had absolute control over the situation right then.

She smiled at him reassuringly. Her kind eyes looked to his, hoping to calm him down a little. “We just want you to be your best tonight, darling,” she said. “Jiyong’s so excited to see you. You haven’t seen each other for so long, haven’t you? Don’t you want to look best for him too?”

“I… I guess,” he gave in. he couldn’t deny how pert his heart has been just of the prospect of seeing Jiyong. It really has been too long.

He was practically pathetic, he thought. It’s only been two months, for goodness’ sake. His heart shouldn’t be that heavy with want.

“Good!” Dami exclaimed. She handed him a bottle of lotion, the nice-smelling kind that would make his skin sparkly with glitters. “Put this on, then put that on, and call me. Hurry up. It won’t be long until Jiyong comes.”

Seungri eyed the clothes that were hung on the closet handles. There was noticeably less fabric than he would have liked. He breathed heavily.

Before she closed the door behind her, she looked back, eyes soft again and her smile almost wavering. “We love you, Seunghyun-ah. I promise you’re going to love tonight.”

 

 

 

Seoul from the twelfth floor was a sight incredibly enticing in Seungri’s eyes. It made him wonder. It made him want to wander. Pretty lights shone below him, even if the prettier ones above were clouded by the pollution. It was honestly remarkable, how an hour-long train ride could lead to such a change in scenery.

It made him dream to the sights he’d see if he rode the train for an hour more, or three – perhaps, plane rides to ancient ruins, or small boat rides into pretty caves that echoed even the slightest drops of water.

He slid his hand down the floor-to-ceiling window, consciously mimicking various music videos he’d watched. His phone was playing _Lies_ and _Wedding Dress_ again. His heart feeling lighter, even if the songs were far from it. He was fond of the idea that the city was on the tip of his fingers, waiting to be explored, and he’s thinking already of how many absences he can make before he gets dropped from class.

Not a healthy thought, but a true one.

This wasn’t his first time in Seoul. Sometimes he came to visit Jiyong, whenever he could. Most recently, he stayed over at Sungmin’s, so that they could enroll together with Minho and Mino. Everytime he went, he bristled at the possibilities of a new life, no longer stuck at the mundane routine of simply going to school, avoiding people, training hard, and going home. His image never really changed, and all he had was his group of friends and Jiyong. There, in Seoul, even if the streets were plagued by city pollution, even if the school year hasn’t started, even if he were instead staying with Minho at an apartment near but close to Campus, even if the windows were closed tightly shut, Seungri could bask in the fresh air of freedom and change he never thought he needed until he packed his bags and moved from Chuncheon.

It was startling to find out how he felt for the change. He loved his mother, of course he did. Yet she was still rarely there, and the halls of his school and the streets of his town reminded him every day of a trauma years already past. In truth, so much has changed, he got his friends back, but his classmates never really looked at him the same again.  His mother understood with a love only a mother had, and he never really blamed her for it again. He was simply grateful that she does her best, which is more than he could ask for, he realized as he got older.

The air of Chuncheon suffocated him.

There was a knock on his locked door, bringing him out of his weak trance. He opened the door to Kwon Gaeul, beautiful for her age.

“Ready?” she asked him, and he hadn’t quite known what she meant.

He was led over to the bed where she sat him down and clutched his soft cheeks with both her hands. “Oh, look at you,” she cooed, turning his face to the left and to the right. “You’ve grown up so pretty. You’re skin is amazing, too. You’re feeding yourself healthily, my goodness. I couldn’t be more proud!”

Seungri laughed, as awkward as a boy who had no idea what was happening could. “What are we doing, eomonim?”

“We’re going to make you prettier,” she told him, giddy. She opened the bag full of cosmetics she had brought with her.

“It’s eight in the evening,” he startled. “Are we going out?”

“ _We_ are,” she said suspiciously. But it made sense, had it not? Why else would Dami put him in a pretty white button-up she had designed herself, tucked into a straight-cut brown shorts that reached just to his knees.

_You’re ass looks great,_ she said to his dismay. _And your legs are to be envied: slim and shapely, no? Aren’t you glad I made you shave?_

Seungri still refused to give her the satisfaction. She had to know she couldn’t just push him around like that, even if she could and Seungri had resigned himself helpless to her.

“Will Jiyong be there?”

She laughed. She had taken a hairband to pull them back from his face. “You’re eager to see him, aren’t you?”

He blushed. Of course he was.  “it’s just,” he stuttered, shy that he was so obvious to the mother of his heart,  “it’s just you’re putting a lot of effort into this – a”

Then she started to dab things around his mouth and face which promptly shut him up.

What Seungri meant to say was, _shouldn’t they be doing this tomorrow? Because tomorrow, Jiyong will debut. On the actual stage, singing a song that rocked the charts so hard people wondered where YG kept these boys all along._

Seungri was proud, he really was. Hus classmates had been singing _Good Boy_ the whole week. Though the boys’ debut has long been anticipated, since the release of _Lies_ apparently, their latest song had practically stapled their status as idols to watch out for.

It was no secret that they’ve both written and co-produced the songs they’d released. To have them widely recognized and highly-praised were something else.

He’d have a celebrity for a boyfriend by tomorrow.

He should at least loom up to par, shouldn’t he?

“Hm,” Gaeul went, working on Seungri’s face with a quiet determination. Not that the boy needed much. She was going for the natural look, light and nothing more than the basics. “You’re talking like tomorrow would be the start of something great.”

Seungri’s eyebrows raised in confusion. “Well, it is, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she conceded in a voice so soft and warm, “for his idol career. But for your relationship, it’s just one of the many series of events you’ll be experiencing together.”

“Was it the same for you?” Seungri asked, tranquility settling over the room like  a comforting blanket.

She took a while to respond, and when she did, it was with a wisdom she kept from most. “It’s something I’d learned over the years of being with _______. I had nothing to my name when he told his family we were to be married. His family hadn’t accepted me back then, and it was difficult. So we moved to Chuncheon, away from their influence. It remained tat  way until around Jiyong was 7. I was making a name for myself, then.

“Actually, they’re a little peeved that none of our children went on to become lawyers,” she added with a giggle. “But that’s not something either of us care about. We’ve been lucky, thus far.”

Seungri’s throat clogged, the apology stuck before he could say it. It was… _romantic_ , if he thought about it. He wanted to say sorry, for all the difficulties they’d had to face. But that was something a sorry shouldn’t be said for. It was an opportunity that made them stronger. It was to be _thanked_.

And perhaps, so will _tomorrow_.

They were quiet, not for long,  just until she was rubbing the lipstick on his lips. He was handed a mirror and he gaped – the dark rings around his eyes were gone, his lips were shaded in the cutest pink, his eyes looked sharper than usual, his lashes seemed longer, and his eyebrows weren’t messy. It was fascinating, to look so different and… _not_ at the same time.

He assumed the rosiness on his cheeks were natural, if the hotness he felt was anything to go by.

“Say, Seunghyun-ah,” the woman called out, after a giggle at how adorable the boy’s reaction was. “You do love our Yongie, don’t you?”

Seungri’s arm dropped, the mirror secured between his fingers. Baffled, he answered, “Without a doubt, eommonim. That’s a silly question.”

“Mandatory,” she shrugged. “I just had to ask once.”

Seungri chuckled at her. The absurdity funny, down to its essence.

“I… _we_ just wanted to remind you,” she continued, heaving a big breath and putting Seungri on edge, “we love you. You’re a part of our family as much as we are a part of yours. Whatever happens, we’ll be here.”

And it seemed like she hadn’t had this planned because she suddenly stopped, not knowing what exactly to say.

Yet Seungri got that she already said it.

“Because you love me?” he confirmed.

“Because we love you,” she affirmed.

Seungri leaned in, touched and emotional unexpectedly. He wrapped his arms around the woman and even though they’ve accepted him ever since the beginning, it always stabbed at his heart whenever he was told.

They had gone all though that trouble just to show him they loved him. Needlessly. He already knew – had practically known for _years_.

“I love you too,” he sniffed.

 


	18. Chapter 18

Love was fire in the coldest of winter nights, illuminating and warming from the darkness within to give guidance and life to his otherwise dull and lost soul.

Love was food for the hungry, water for those who thirst, a curious sort of feeling only satiable by one specific thing.

Love was meeting Seungri at ten years old, gifting each other with dreams, holding hands and never letting go. It was taking him home to his parents before anyone else, wanting to keep him from anything and everyone even before he knew what _obsession_ meant.

Love was kissing Seungri at midnight, while the moonlight shown on his young and pretty face, letting the wind of temptation get to him before logic did. It was the pain and regret of letting it, the vile taste of the apology unsaid, on the tip of his tongue until Seungri talked to him again, relieving him from a hurt far deeper than he realized.

Love was the saving kiss he got on graduation day, the forgiveness and redemption, the _I love you too_.

Love was the fear of telling Seungri his mistakes, the petrifaction of being left when Seungri found out that he couldn’t handle the weight on his shoulders so he took to alcohol and drugs and cigarettes that glowed in the darkness with a fire that shouldn’t have been lit. It was the addiction to both things, the acceptance of it all.

Love was the self-hatred when he kept his secrets, the realization of being unable to protect Seungri hitting like a bullet fired from a pistol point blank straight to his chest. It was the seething anger towards Seungri because he was not told, to himself because he was unable to make it clear to that Seungri could.

Love was both of their mistakes and each of their hurdles handled and moved on from together. It was growing up and knowing that it all wouldn’t be perfect yet remaining nevertheless. It was child-like maturity, an understanding that the real world may be harsh but they would at least never be alone.

Love was achieving their dreams and pushing each other to grow, never wanting to pull one another down and never even fathoming leaving the other behind.

Love was convincing his family to take Seungri with them to Seoul, to make them leave for a few hours so Seungri and he could have the place alone together. It was savoring the surprised look on Seungri’s realizing it was all a set-up, the doubtful glances when he started cooking pasta. It was the flabbergasted exclamations Seungri made as he fished out the bottle of wine from the fridge and led the both of them to the balcony where his father had fixed up a romantic dinner table while his mother and sister fixed your lover up.

Love was the insulting impressed grin Seungri made in taking that first bite of pasta, the teasing lilt in vocalizing a pleasant surprise at how well he cooked, the proud swell in his chest despite. It was the way Seungri talked of how lovely he was under the moonlight while all he could think of was how breathtaking Seungri was by candlelight.

Love was the dream caught between his arms, pressed against his chest, held lightly by his fingertips because his dream had Seungri as his dream as well. It was a happy consent, made by both at the same time, a promise that Seungri was his as much as he was Seungri’s.

Love was Seungri pressed into the half wall, twelve floors from the ground, city lights shining like stars above them. It was a wine glass in one hand and Seungri’s leg in the other, fingers in his hair, their lips joined together.

Love was running his hand against Seungri’s skin, highly intimate, and it wasn’t his fault because he had never asked for Seungri those shorts and smooth legs, even though it was what he nevertheless needed. It was Seungri giggling at how good it felt to be held up. It was him grinning at how good it felt to lift love up.

Love was innocent intimacy and aroused anticipation. It was an overwhelming of the senses and the purest form of emotion.

Love was security and contentment – happiness found in the most amazing person.

 

 

 

At least that was what Jiyong thought.

As he had Seungri giggling in front of him, he couldn’t think of it as anything less.

It has been so long – too long since they’ve seen each other, and it was almost unsettling how possessive he felt as the long weeks passed him by. He stared into his lovers eyes and he could see animated confusion, a question as to what has possessed him to do all of these things. Seungri was curious, but delighted, baffled but nevertheless happy with the surprise. Jiyong was glad.

It wasn’t exactly easy to orchestrate the night, not when he had to relegate himself to the teasing torture of his mother and his sister. At least his father had let him off, merely told him how proud he was to have a son who was steadfast and knew what he wanted in life.

All of them thought he was too young, but Jiyong was adamant it was perfect timing.

Placing his glass back to the table, he watched as the candles burned. They didn’t have much time now, perhaps an hour or so before their parents come back.

_Oops, well,_ he was getting ahead of himself.

“I’m so excited for tomorrow,” Seungri gushed, eyes up to the dark heavens in a daydream. “Can you believe it? You’re debuting tomorrow! You’ll be so popular. Heck, you’re already popular, and you’ll just be even more. Aren’t you excited?”

Jiyong chuckled, walking slowly back. “Right now, no.”

Seungri cocked his head to the side; a cute confused grin was worn on his face like it has all throughout the night.

“I’m more excited for you,” Jiyong explained.

“Me?” Seungri lit up. It made Jiyong laugh. That was the face his lover had when he knew he was about to receive a present. He didn’t know how Seungri was able to smell that sort of thing but freebies were freebies to this boy. He never did say no to material grace.

“Mhmm,” Jiyong affirmed, tilting his head teasingly to the same side. “Well, for us.”

He fished out a beige velvet box from his pocket, hiding it in his hands before looking back up. He supposed he should have worn something better for this occasion, something other than his best pair of skinny jeans and a loose button-up. Then again, Seungri had been eyeing his collarbones all night long so he must have done not too badly.

He lifted his head up as Seungri kept looking down, eyes trained on his hands and mouth tight in anticipation. Jiyong showed him and the gasp that followed was unmistakable.

Jiyong’s heart soared.

“Is that…” Seungri tried, shaking immediately. “Is that what I think it is?”

Jiyong was too weak against the adorableness of this boy. He didn’t mean to, but his voice came out soft when he asked, “Why? What do you think it is?”

“Jiyong,” Seungri pouted, lower lip already trembling when none of them had done anything. “I swear, if this is a joke then I–”

“It’s not.”

Seungri looked up to him then, searching for the lie that never was. Jiyong was nothing but sincere.

With fingers that reminded Jiyong of dancing sausages, as weird as that thought was tonight of all nights, Seungri plucked the box from where it was nestled and opened it. He gasped once more and all his suspicions were confirmed.

No wonder everyone was excited for tonight. Even Youngbae had texted him a _“Good luck!^^”_ that afternoon.

Inside was a silver band, designed as two lines carved with intricate patterns in each. Simple yet beautiful, more masculine than it was feminine, Seungri thought it made his heart stop.

It was real; there was a solid ring that existed in front of him, heavy with a question.

Jiyong took the box back only to take out the shiny piece of jewelry. “It’s not much,” he laughed. “It’s all I could afford even after saving for more than a year, but I wanted to get it from my own money. I promise you a better one, though, with an actual diamond, in the future, if that’s what you still want.”

It was more than Seungri could want. Tears threatened to fall and he sniffed unattractively, which was something great to do in front of the man asking _the_ question.

God, he was such a mess.

Jiyong hummed in delight. Yet, even at that moment, he felt nervous. Seungri still hadn’t said anything, and he could feel the heat that radiated from his body so strongly, despite them not touching in the slightest. Pocketing back the box and keeping the ring between his fingers, Jiyong shivered. He hasn’t actually asked the question yet, so he couldn’t expect an answer.

“Seungri,” he began with a shaky sigh. “Baby, I was exactly ten when I met you. I was probably ten when I fell in love with you but I just haven’t realized. We may have only gotten together three years ago but it feels like we’ve been together for the better half of a decade.

“We’re still young, I knew we are, and we’ve yet to fully fulfill each of our dreams. I need you to know that you’re not only part of my dream. You _are_ my dream. And there’s nothing more I could want than to have you beside me for the rest of my life.

“I’m not settling; I know I’m not. You have no idea how happy I feel when I’m with you. I don’t want to be the fool that let you go. So many years and so many obstacles have shown me that. I could only hope that you saw it too.”

Jiyong took a deep breath, his heart hammering in his chest, blocking his ears, and making it difficult to breathe. He felt like he swallowed his tongue.

“We are… you are it for me, Seungri. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be able to look forward knowing that you’ll always be there beside me, if you’ll have me. All of me, even my blemishes and imperfections, because all I want is you.

“So I’m asking you tonight, before I step into the idol world and before you step into college, with all my heart, body, and soul, will you marry me?”

There was a pause as he awaited Seungri’s reaction with baited breath. The younger had eyes swelling with unshed tears and… the most mischievous of smiles?

No, that couldn’t be right. Seungri only did that when he was about to say something–

“Oh my god, babe, that was so cheesy, it made me want to cry.”

–utterly rude.

Jiyong gaped. He supposed that was his fault for setting his sister on him. He’d heard Seungri even cried while she was shaving his armpits, which he still had yet to see.

“But I’m afraid,” Seungri added, rather apologetically. “I have to say no. I’m sorry.”

And that was as painful in the chest as a heavy mace. It took him so much by surprise, he failed to comprehend what Seungri had said.

“What?” Jiyong lamented, voice cracking in disbelief.

“I can’t marry you.”

“Why not?”

“I… I can’t.”

Jiyong’s heart constricted. He couldn’t take it. Not only did Seungri made fun of him… but this boy, this boy whom he loved and cared for deeply, rejected him without a visible explanation. Sure, it was purely discretionary on Seungri’s part to accept but he didn’t have to be so cruel about it.

At least, that’s what he told himself as he struggled to ignore the pain of rejection.

He had not expected it. Coming into this, he was hardheaded to take a yes from Seungri. He hadn’t thought it would be difficult. He had no reason to believe it to be. So he grated his teeth, settling on the compromise that perhaps it wasn’t purely discretionary on Seungri’s part after all.

Seungri was dallying; Jiyong was pissed.

“Tell me why, Seungri.” It was a command, growled through bared teeth and narrowed eyes. The boy before him quivered in fear and hesitation. If it took him this much to explain why he couldn’t simply say yes, then there was clearly something wrong.

Seungri was stammering. “I just… can’t.”

“Then tell me why!”

A tear trailed down Seungri’s cheek and he looked broken when he said, “I can’t let you marry me.”

Jiyong waited.

“I’m not good enough for you,” Seungri said.

“Bullshit,” Jiyong scoffed all at once, oddly prepared for that.

Seungri whimpered pitifully. “It’s true,” he pushed on, eyes shamefully downcast. “I… I…” and he couldn’t say anymore as he was assaulted by a wave of self-pity and tears. Seungri heaved from deep within and it was as if a damn burst inside of him. Seungri was shaking violently, and Jiyong had no idea what brought it on. He questioned if it had been his fault, if he had screamed at Seungri too harshly.

It made no sense to him, not really. Their relationship had been good. It wasn’t absolutely perfect but it wasn’t like no couple ever fought. Seungri had always sounded happy when they talked. He was excited to head off to college, to tackle life without the shackles of a wronged image, funded by a kiss-up step-father and an all-too-loving mother. He was going off with his friends, has even settled on a place with Minho so he wouldn’t be totally alone.

Seungri was practically spoiled.

And it couldn’t have been Jiyong’s fault, could he? He’d been better, he was sure. Mino has always joked with him, but Minho was a bit trickier. He was Seungri’s _best friend,_ had been there for his boy almost as long as Jiyong was. Never had he expressed his approval for Jiyong, that is, until last week when he’d congratulated him for his career success.

Minho, with his deep and no-nonsense voice warned him, _You better take care of him, Kwon. Our baby only deserves the best._

And though it irked him how Minho could think that Seungri was quote-unquote _theirs_ , his relationship was practically blessed in Minho-talk.

“Seungri,” he tried again, gentler, going about it a different way. He was frustrated, infinitely so. Seungri wasn’t telling him things again. That could be the only explanation. “You have to talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Jiyong wrapped his arms around his boy carefully. Seungri flinched, but the sobs that racked his body made him weak. He had no choice but hold on to Jiyong.

“What’s got you troubled, baby?”

At the steadiness of his voice, Seungri eventually calmed. “I’m sorry,” he squeaked feebly. “I just couldn’t,” he paused to breathe. “I couldn’t let you marry me when I’m so _imperfect_.”

Jiyong lifted Seungri’s chin so that he could look into his eyes. The older smiled, kind and understanding. “I’m not perfect either. I still want to spend my life with you.”

Seungri sniffed.

“Don’t you want to spend the rest of your life with me?” Jiyong had to ask.

Seungri frowned, recognizing it as the trap that it was. He couldn’t lie. “I do.”

“Then there’s no problem, is there? I love you because you’re you, imperfect and all.”

Seungri shook his head, eyes scrunched in exasperation. “No, you don’t understand. I’m more imperfect than you. I’m… I’m _wrong_.”

“What do you mean wrong?” Jiyong’s eyebrow quirked. At least Seungri was trying to find the words to explain. At least Seungri was _talking_ to him.

And if Seungri was bawling a second ago, he was as bright as a tomato then.

In hindsight, it was really amusingly curious how Seungri could change colors from flush to blush so fast.

Jiyong almost laughed but the sadness never left Seungri’s features. His body went rigid, and Jiyong wanted him shaking again instead. He waited patiently and cradled Seungri’s cold cheeks in his warm palms.

Seungri couldn’t look at him when he spoke. “I get sick when you touch me.” He held steadfast when Jiyong tried to retract his hands in reaction. Shaking his head, he clarified, “No, this is fine. It’s good. It’s when you _touch_ me that I feel sick, like I want to puke my insides out.”

Seungri was burning up, and Jiyong wanted to seethe. It wasn’t Seungri’s fault but it seemed like the younger was blaming himself. “Do you not...” Jiyong hiccupped. “Does it not feel good?”

“No,” he confessed heavily, as if the truth was caging him more than it was setting him free. “It’s like… all I could think of… I just–”

Seungri couldn’t say it, but Jiyong could guess. “Is this about Jackson?”

Seungri shuddered. “Who?”

“Jackson Wang,” Jiyong spat, the name tasting like bile on his tongue. “I know what he did to you, Seungri-ah.”

Jiyong did. Mino had told him _everything_ , yet for some reason Seungri got it to his head that when he said Mino did, that the boy left out to most crucial part.

Which was fucking ridiculous because Mino has never been the sort to sugar coat his words.

Jiyong had patiently waited for Seungri to tell him in person, once he realized that the younger had been delusional enough to believe that he hadn’t known. But he hadn’t said a word, and Jiyong let it go because it never seemed like the incident bothered the younger anymore. Even then, judging by the open confusion on Seungri’s face, he looked as if he’d done all in his power to forget about the incident.

“I don’t,” Seungri doubted, shaking his head. “I haven’t thought about him in so long.”

Jiyong sighed, his thoughts confirmed. He brought the younger closer, shielding in his arms and Seungri went in willingly.

But Jiyong still had his doubts. “Talk to me about it,” he ordered calmly, needing to get the burden off his love’s chest.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Seungri replied.

“Baby, come on.”

Seungri breathed in deeply. He wrapped his arms around Jiyong’s middle. “There really is none. The thing with Jackson is something I’d rather fully forget.”

“You still should have told me,” the older scolded, keeping his voice leveled.

“It didn’t matter,” was his excuse.

Jiyong almost bristled. “It does matter, baby. You need to tell me these things so I could help you. Look at us, still apparently haunted by it two years later. I know it was extremely difficult, but you didn’t have to go through it alone.”

“I didn’t,” Seungri promised, but that was all he had to say. To him, the case really was closed. The experience long wrapped up in chains and disposed to the sea where it wouldn’t weigh him down, moved on from, but never truly and wholly forgotten.

It made Jiyong sigh.

“Do you think… could it be something else?” Jiyong asked, because if there were more, then Seungri had to tell him.

Seungri shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said weakly. “Maybe. Maybe not. I have no idea.”

It was breaking Jiyong’s heart. Seungri looked so broken, lost, and unfocused. All the older wanted to do was wipe it from his face and be over it. The night wasn’t supposed to be like this. They should be happy.

He’ll officially be an idol tomorrow and there was a dating ban he had to honor. Thing was, if he were engaged, then he wouldn’t have been technically dating.

More than that, just the idea of forever with Seungri gave him strength. The promise of it could fuel him through anything and everything after.

It was selfish, he realized, but it was love, deep and impossible to turn back from.

Abruptly, he pulled at Seungri’s hand. Making sure to blow the candles out on their table, Jiyong led Seungri to their bedroom. Seungri offered no protest, but he had been in quiet shock.

The door was locked. The light was turned off. Jiyong went to the window to let the moonlight in. Then he beckoned Seungri over with open arms.

The younger squirmed, uncomfortable and comfortable at the same time.

“Come to me,” Jiyong welcomed, voice crooning over the hum of the air-conditioning unit. And Seungri did. For this was Jiyong, the person whom he loved above all others, the person who held his heart in the palm of his hands, kind enough to always be gentle and caring.

Jiyong kissed him slowly, a light brush of lips until Seungri responded in like. Slow and respectful, an ask for permission which Seungri freely gave.

Gradually, the kiss deepened, but it has never turned any less romantic. Jiyong’s tongue explored his mouth in earnest, as if he was painting an intricate picture, paying careful mind to blending their tastes perfectly.

Jiyong’s thumbs brushed over his knuckles. Every bump of his bones mapped and massaged repeatedly. Jiyong kissed them and Seungri was distracted by it, relaxed, calmed down.

Jiyong just as slowly pecked the sides of his lips and cheeks and turned over the younger’s hands to press his thumb into his palms. In a soothing tone, he confessed: “I’ll be honest, Seungri. I don’t think I’ll live if I don’t get to touch you. I want to be able to _feel you_.”

“I want that too,” Seungri told him right back.

Jiyong hummed. He moved his hands to the underside of Seungri’s wrists, caressing them firmly, letting Seungri get used to the sensation of his skin.

“So let me touch you,” Jiyong whispered the plea. “Stop me anytime that you want, but at least let me know just how far I could go.”

Seungri’s breath hitched and his voice got lost in it all. Hesitance filled his eyes, but Jiyong was quick to have it dispelled. “Don’t force yourself, please,” the older assured. “Not for anyone; not for me.”

Seungri gave a small nod and closed his eyes. Jiyong’s hands trailed higher, ghosting over the light fabric of his shirt until his collar and down again to his waist, pulling slowly until it was untucked. Seungri’s fingers curled at every button Jiyong released, reminding himself that Jiyong wasn’t aiming for sex, that if sex was what this was headed to, it was ultimately _more than just that_.

The shirt was removed from his shoulders and dropped to the floor. Grabbing Seungri’s hands again, Jiyong asked, “Are we still good?”

Seungri nodded tersely.

“Use your voice, Seungri-ah,” Jiyong demanded. “Tell me if this is still okay; tell me if you want to stop.” Seungri’s eyes opened. “You’re in control.”

The lump in Seungri’s throat shrunk, letting him breathe, letting him whisper that “It’s okay. We’re still good.”

Jiyong had always loved Seungri in the moonlight, has thought that thought so many times, and was never likely to change anytime soon. He wanted to worship this boy, ravish him until he couldn’t remember his name, fill all of his senses with him. But he couldn’t – not yet, not until he knew his limits. Because he would never want to disrespect the person he loved.

He began from the wrist up, pressing resolutely into every portion of Seungri’s body, slowly and surely feeling every inch of his skin, up and down in a sensual pace, allowing the younger to breathe through every motion. He kissed Seungri ‘s pulse points, and just about every part he touched before moving on. From the sharpness to his elbows to the curve of his shoulders, Seungri’s breathing was deep. Jiyong’s eyes flitted from watching the rise and fall of Seungri’s chest, the slides his hands make, to the changes on Seungri’s features.

Parted lips panting, Seungri’s breath hitched as Jiyong dipped his fingers into the younger’s collarbones, wrapping his masculine hands to the back of his neck and stepping an inch closer.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jiyong couldn’t help but praise. Seungri’s lips shut and his Adam’s apple bobbed.

Jiyong was doing well.

Teasing at the little hairs on Seungri’s nape, his hands pressed back down, massaging his shoulders before splaying his fingers to run down Seungri’s chest. Lower and lower to the flat of his stomach, Seungri’s breathing went rapid so Jiyong took it upon himself to stop. The older rubbed up and down his sides, hard enough not to tickle, slow enough not to burn, comforting enough until Seungri’s hesitance once again subsided.

They couldn’t have been more than inches apart and it took too much of Jiyong’s strength not to kiss him. So he gave in for a while, minding not to change his pace.

It felt wonderful to have Seungri sighing contentedly into his mouth. It felt better when he pulled away. “We’re still good,” Seungri volunteered then.

His heart was hammering as powerfully as Seungri’s. It was unmistakable when he’d felt the younger’s chest. Even more when he saw the small smile that graced his lips.

Feeling a little braver, Jiyong led them to the bed. He made Seungri sit just by the edge. He kneeled in front of him, keeping their eyes on each other’s.

“Remember, you can stop me anytime,” Jiyong had to say when he gently pried Seungri’s legs wider and met some resistance. Seungri kept quiet save for his labored breaths.

Yet, when Jiyong reached for his foot, the younger jerked.

“It tickles,” Seungri explained quickly, apologetically, adorably. And Jiyong smiled.

He wrapped his fingers around Seungri’s ankles instead, wondering how even they could be pretty like the rest of him. Perhaps Jiyong was just too in love. He didn’t dwell too much on it.

Jiyong massaged his calves lightly, just as he had been doing with the rest of his body since they began. Up and down before he moved on to Seungri’s knees where his thumbs encircled the middle. With Jiyong’s fingers snaking to the back of them, Seungri let out a little moan, shocking them both to pause.

“You liked that?” Jiyong had to ask, unable to keep the strained excitement and giddiness from his voice.

The blush had taken over the whole of Seungri’s body and the boy was literally burning hot. Jiyong had noticed it gradually and it merely fueled him in continuing to do right by his love.

Seungri’s shy “Yes,” was all Jiyong needed to hear.

So the older indulged him, rubbing a little more as he gave each of his knees a romantic kiss.

Along the contours of Seungri’s thighs, Jiyong was reminded of their kiss on the balcony, while one of Seungri’s legs were secured around his waist. This, he knew, Seungri was fine with, which he was grateful for because they were quickly becoming a healthy portion of his dreams.

Seungri must have been feeling the same. His mouth was parted again, pupils blown wide. Red was high on his cheeks and reached so _goddamn low_ , and shit Jiyong had to reign in his self control.

Hooking his deft fingers on the band of Seungri’s shorts, he almost didn’t have to ask, “Can I take them off?” but he still did.

The younger replied with a dazed nod, leaning on his elbows in submission. Long fingers worked his shorts expertly, and Jiyong’s mind was a frenzy of too many dark thoughts.

He slid the piece of clothing from the younger’s legs, savoring how it looked gliding over his supple skin, his heart hammering as Seungri let himself be bared to him.

It all sent an electric tingle on Jiyong’s skin, a thrill inexplicably welcomed. Seungri was glowing under the moonlight, covered solely by Jiyong’s own shadow in that room heated by only them.

Jiyong nudged between Seungri’s legs, between his quivering knees. The older placed his hands on them, willing them to still, looking up imploringly at his lover.

“Do you trust me?”

Seungri’s eyes shone. Even with his all presented to him so enticingly, Jiyong had to say his eyes were the best. They were expressive and they never lied.

They said the same thing as what came out of Seungri’s mouth.

“I trust you.”

Jiyong caressed the inside of Seungri’s thighs, slowly and deliberately making it hard for his boyfriend to breathe with anticipation. Seungri’s muscles were taut, flexed and unrelaxed, reactive to the glide of Jiyong’s fingers.

Jiyong bit at it suddenly. Harsh and painful, not only had it gotten Seungri’s leg propping on the bed, but his hips bucking as well. The younger was so embarrassed, if Jiyong hadn’t noticed his hard on before, it was more than prominent then.

The older was staring. Seungri tried to bring his leg back down again but Jiyong had kept a tight hold around his ankles.

“Jiyong!” he cried, utterly embarrassed at their position. He was so open. His eyes were watering and his breathing was all over the place.

“Yes?” Jiyong asked.

_Tell me what you want_ , he meant.

_Say it if you need me to stop,_ he meant.

And Seungri didn’t want him to, not really. He wanted to show him that he trusted him wholeheartedly, without any sort of reservations.

Unknowing how else to continue, Seungri fisted at the sheets on his sides, determined to keep them out of the way. “Can you please take your shirt off?” he shakily asked instead, hoping that if Jiyong was a naked too, he would calm down. “It might make me feel a little more comfortable.”

The older followed immediately.

“Can you also please not be so far away?”

It was asked softly, so much so that Jiyong had barely managed to catch it. And when he did, he almost laughed. But that would have been hypocritical. He of all people knew that touching was as comforting as being touched.

“Go lie on the bed properly,” Jiyong instructed, giving a small push of encouragement. Seungri scooted over to the center as Jiyong took his pants off. His erection visibly strained against the fabric of his black briefs. The younger’s eyes were on it.

Jiyong soon followed, crawling over his lover, assuming his place between his legs. He liked it there. It felt _right_ to be there.

“I’m scared, Ji,” Seungri suddenly confessed, voice cracking and his hands flew to his eyes in a desperation to hide from his fault.

Jiyong took back to rubbing at the underside of his knees, placing Seungri on him with his legs on each side, the way Seungri liked. The older was wise enough not to be offended by the statement. “I just want you to feel my skin all over yours,” he explained. “You don’t have to be afraid. We’re not doing anything you say no to.”

“No,” Seungri shook his head, waiting for his breathing to stabilize. “I guess it’s not that I’m afraid. I’m… nervous.”

Seungri squirmed. In their position, his ass was half on Jiyong’s folded knees, their arousals merely inches apart to have his stomach fluttering with something he couldn’t place. But Jiyong’s hands felt good against his thighs, his knees, his hips.

“What if I still don’t like it, Ji?” he sobbed, letting out his fear and anxiety in one painful sentence, plaguing him every time they’ve had sex, every time he refused Jiyong, promising himself a _next time_ that never truly came.

_Next time, I’ll try not faking feeling good about it._

_Next time, I’ll try telling the truth._

But the secret kept had always been the better option in his head. Better than–

“I’m not leaving you,” Jiyong promised.

–that.

“I’ll always be here for you,” he swore. “We’re not here to force you to like anything, love. Only to test your limits, to know just how far I could go so that you don’t feel awful anymore. I’m never going to make you feel that way. I’ll always be with you.”

There was a pause.

“Okay,” Seungri breathed.

“Okay,” Jiyong echoed, and he bent themselves together to catch the younger in a languid, promising kiss.

It was different, so surreal to the boy who had caramel skin and panda eyes. A profound love filled him, a feeling that could only overflow from Jiyong. Their skins were feverish. And Jiyong was being all too amazingly gentle, cradling him and making him more comfortable naked and exposed as he’s ever been. The feeling was new, peculiarly new and Seungri wanted more.

Jiyong knew. As their kiss deepened, Seungri’s hips moved to the tune of his fingers outlining the juncture of his thighs.

It was excruciatingly slow to Jiyong, but it was what Seungri needed. And the older was generous enough – caring enough – to set aside his needs if only for the comfort of his lover.

Slowly, not wanting to startle Seungri, Jiyong moved his hands closer to his dick, giving obvious hints that he was about to. “I’m going to touch you, okay?” he still whispered, waiting for the consent Seungri was hesitant to provide.

The boy braved it and nodded his assent.

Driven by a purpose, Jiyong wrapped his hands around Seungri’s shaft, watching as Seungri’s expression lightly turned sour. Then, in a single swipe of his thumb over the head, Seungri gave a push and pitifully whimpered for him to please stop.

It broke Jiyong’s heart, not because of the reaction, but because of the tears that suddenly invaded Seungri’s face. His eyes were clenched impossibly tight, partnered with a sudden rise in uneven breathing and quivering lips.

The boy really had been afraid, so self-conscious and insecure that Jiyong really wished he knew sooner.

If only Seungri had told him sooner, then he would have done something about this fear.

But it was there, and he couldn’t turn back time, so he released his hold and kissed each of Seungri’s eyes, trying to wipe the tears that shouldn’t be shed.

“It’s okay, I’m here, it’s okay,” Jiyong placated. “I won’t leave you. I promise. I promise.”

Seungri’s nails dug painfully on Jiyong’s wrists, berating himself for acting so pathetic, for unwillingly thinking things in his head that shouldn’t be thought.

He thought that night that maybe it was just about Jackson, that he felt so betrayed because he was starting to think that they were friends. But he had touched him _there_ and Seungri’s mind went all haywire and made him want to gut himself from the disgust.

But Jiyong did the same and he got the same feeling when the trust was never breached, when Jackson was so far back in his mind he was only reminded when Jiyong said his name again. It was more than the betrayal, it was than the feeling of _disgust_ because he felt like it wasn’t just his person was violated.

Something more. Something deeper and innate.

It was as if he was getting cursed and beaten to the core, like it shouldn’t in the first place _be_.

_Fuck_ , he understood none of it. He tried but he couldn’t fix the feeling. He couldn’t fix himself.

He was breaking down.

He was so _broken_.

But there Jiyong was, keeping him together.

The promises washed over him, cooling and reeling him back to reality, which was Jiyong above him radiating all the love in the world.

It was as sobering as two dozens of beer, but Jiyong was Seungri’s reality. He was his. They were theirs.

_And he trusted him, he did_.

So before a single sob could escape his lips, Seungri gathered whatever bravery he had left and surged up to kiss him.

“I’m okay,” he promised, voice nothing more than a hum. “Please kiss me, hold me close, _touch_ me. I trust you.”

Their gazes met, and Jiyong was powerless to go against this boy. He delved in for a kiss, long and deep and meant to last them both the whole night. His hands explored, in the same calming pace, in the same suggestive pressure.

Jiyong had no complaints. Seungri had his arms around his neck and they were so close, the heat between them had him sweating despite the cold temperature. Everywhere he touched, he felt excited, every second making him go crazier with want.

He was still between Seungri’s legs, still had half of his ass on his knees and Jiyong couldn’t help himself. They’ve never done it this intimately before, not with Seungri’s reservations, not with this immense amount of trust.

Slowly, his hands trailed to the younger’s backside, massaging the soft lobes appreciatively. Seungri froze, pulling away slightly only to be subjected to Jiyong’s intense gaze.

Once more, Jiyong asked for permission.

Once more, Seungri gave consent.

The younger spread his legs wider, coloring an amazing shade of red. Jiyong moved one of his hands to steady himself again over the boy, so that he could hopefully melt their tongues together in the hottest kiss. The other leisurely traced along Seungri’s thigh, scratching lightly on the inside before sweeping in the middle of his cheeks.

The moment Jiyong’s index finger touched Seungri’s hole, the younger gasped in surprised pleasure, letting go of their kiss in exchange of something much better: the discovery of Seungri’s hypersensitivity.

Jiyong’s mouth dried. Seungri’s heart threatened to escape his chest.

Jiyong teased at it, around its rim, over and across, so sensually slow that Seungri held him closer, demanding their lips be back together, but Jiyong couldn’t comply.

His mind was fogged and overran with the thought he has had in his head since he was fourteen.

His fingers wanted to touch.

_His tongue needed to taste_.

He’d been trying so hard to be tame, because Seungri had been so skittish to begin with.

But this…

This was game-changing.

Barely able to keep restrained, he licked at Seungri’s mouth, dragging his lips along Seungri’s jaw, down his neck to the middle of his chest. He kissed him at his heart, continued down to his belly button, then he took Seungri’s legs and pushed them at the knees, as open as Seungri could.

Jiyong stared. He watched as his thumb pressed experimentally against the puckered hole, making Seungri squirm, moan, and need to grab onto something.

Jiyong finally bent, keeping Seungri apart with his hands. He wanted to ease into it, to make it as pleasurable as it could be for his baby. He started at juncture of his thighs, licking at them, sucking a little, giving small nips at his luscious skin. Slowly, he inched closer.

Slowly, he rimmed Seungri, all the while taking his hands everywhere. They kept running up his thighs, massaging his cheeks, scratching lightly at his hip bones.

Jiyong was rewarded with a moan loud enough to make him want to rut at the mattress below him. He tongued at the sensitive muscle on the surface, paying special attention to every bump of the ridged skin. He licked and he sucked, repeated the actions, until the younger was lathered well and slippery.

Seungri was quivering, squirming and trying to keep steady at the same time. Jiyong didn’t have to look to know that his lover had been muffling his sounds with a hand on his mouth.

Jiyong pressed deeper, pushing at the tight ring of muscle so he could lick inside. Seungri tasted like Seungri: tang and sweet, heady and heavily intoxicating, nothing he quite expected. Seungri was breathing his name, feeding him with a sort of praise he has craved for so long.

Alternating between prodding at thesensitive muscles of Seungri’s rim and making him go crazy with his tongue inside of him, Jiyong felt quick tugs at his hair.

“God, Jiyong,” he heard Seungri whine in a voice that went straight to his dick. “Fuck, that feels so good.”

It did. Jiyong could fucking attest to how fucking good it felt to fucking finally touch Seungri like this. He wanted more. He was greedy for more.

He wanted Seungri to realize that Jiyong could make him feel so much _better._

Jiyong sucked on two of his fingers, coating them with his saliva. He wanted to keep the momentum so he prodded them against Seungri’s entrance without heeding confirmation.

He was sure Seungri would like it, anyway.

The muscle gave way with resistance. Tight and unsoiled, Jiyong pressed on slowly, allowing the younger to adjust.

“Oh,” exclaimed Seungri with stuttering breath. “J-ji! Th-that’s so g-good.”

The sensitive muscle sucked at Jiyong, turning him on just as it did Seungri. He opened him up, accelerating the pace only the slightest bit to free Seungri of any pain. Gradually, excruciatingly measured, he worked Seungri up to two, keeping the same routine to loosen him and pleasure him.

Jiyong scissored inside and Seungri gulped for air. His moans and groans and prayers and pleas increased as Jiyong worked him open. It was invigorating.

Keeping his other hand busy, Jiyong pushed and pulled his finger inside Seungri in a constant pace, looking for that spot–

“Fuck!” Seungri jolted, whole body quivering with the sensation.

Jiyong pressed at it again.

“Right there,” Seungri cried. “F-feels amaze-amazing!”

Jiyong pressed on. Taking on a quicker pace, he was enchanted by Seungri. The younger’s walls were velvety and warm, wet with an easy slide made so by the slick of spit. Jiyong wanted so much to sink himself in it, to make love to Seungri in all ways possible, but not right then.

It was all about Seungri and none about him.

It was a punishment to himself for not figuring it out sooner. It was a promise to his better half that Seungri would always be put first.

“Jiyong!” Seungri panted, and the older was getting addicted to his boyfriend chanting his name. “Jiyong, please! I’m so close.”

Seungri was breathless, restless, constantly flailing about and trying to withhold himself. The moans came out uncontrollably and the feeling was familiar to Jiyong. The orgasm was building up, slowly taking over with every thrust, with every jab to his prostate as if he were being filled up continuously to the lidded brim and the sensation would hit against it, pressure building up, building and building until –

“Jiyong!” Seungri screamed, his dick letting out long strings of cum, pooling on his stomach in a wonderfully erotic sight.

Jiyong didn’t relent. He let Seungri ride out the orgasm, still pumping his fingers until the shivers of his orgasm subsided.

“Stop,” Seungri asked weakly, the overstimulation too much. Jiyong pulled his fingers out and Seungri fell limp, utterly blissed out and chest heaving with exhaustion.

Jiyong thought better than to use any of their discarded shirts and went to the bathroom to grab tissues instead. He cleaned up the mess on Seungri’s stomach and dabbed lightly at his tip. It was fine, Seungri was able to at least handle that.

When that was taken cared of, Jiyong went back to bed. Seungri had his eyes closed, but as the mattress dipped when Jiyong sat beside him, he was groggily present.

“How was it?” Jiyong asked after giving Seungri a loving kiss. His washed fingers threaded through Seungri’s hair.

Seungri hummed. “Amazing.”

Finding their bags and sleepwear, Jiyong helped Seungri into pajama pants and leaving his upper body bare. Jiyong did the same and soon, outside their room, the front door opened. Voices could be heard down the hall.

Their family was back.

Seungri, barely awake and too relaxed, groaned pitifully at the prospect of getting up. Jiyong chuckled and fetched the comforter for him.

He draped it over the younger, tucking him in snug and comfortable. “I’ll go greet them,” Jiyong whispered. “You go to sleep.”

“But I didn’t do you,” was what he weirdly got answered with.

Jiyong couldn’t help the laugh. “You don’t need to; I wanted it to be all about you.”

“Ah,” said Seungri simply, to tired to say much else on the matter.

Jiyong kissed him on the forehead and bid him goodnight. But as he was about to stand, Seungri grabbed his shirt.

The younger’s eyes were bright and true, remarkably void of any trick when he’d said, “I want to marry you.”

Jiyong breath caught in his throat.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Seungri continued. “I’ll happily be forever yours.

“I love you.”

Jiyong dove back in and kissed him senseless, with both his hands cupping Seungri’s jaw, a smile on his lips, and tears in his eyes.

He couldn’t believe it. He felt so over the moon he was shaking with it.

“Thank you,” he whimpered to his lover.

_Thank you for trusting me in the most intimate of ways._

_Thank you for letting me know you in a way only I am allowed._

_Thank you for promising to spend the rest of our lives together._

_Thank you for all the love._

“I love you,” Jiyong whimpered, and he thoroughly believed it was the biggest understatement of them all.


	19. An Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is an interlude more than anything. I thought long and hard about marking this story complete with the previous chapter, but it didn’t exactly feel right. We’re now entering into the final arc of this story (and holy crap I had the audacity to call it an arc how dare I). So this chapter will be rather short. Sorry about that. <3

 

AN INTERLUDE  
  
---  
  
 

 

 

In an early September evening, the day began to end with a dinner as two separate conversations took place. It seemed as if it were a work of fate that in two different parts of Seoul, essentially the same discussions were commenced.

 

On one hand, there was Lee Seunghyun who was, as usual, in front of a stove and serving another. It was a joy to the boy, an act he barely thought any strain of. Meanwhile, waiting patiently as the spaghetti was plated was Choi Minho, Seungri’s best friend and the bane of Kwon Jiyong’s existence. Well, one of them. Minho was pretty sure that everyone close to Seungri who weren’t family were banes of Jiyong’s existence, crazy possessive bastard that he was.

 

On the other hand, there was Kwon Jiyong who was, as usual, waiting to be served dinner instead of helping. He had the strangest craving for spaghetti – Seungri’s – and he’d asked for the recipe from his fiancé just so that he could order Youngbae, his best friend, to make it for him. He chuckled at that thought. Thinking about Seungri never failed to make him giddy in love.

 

Unbeknownst to any of them, they were all amazingly in sync. The best friends especially. The same things swam in their heads as they sat with a plate full of spaghetti, eyeing the person sitting across them. Peculiar, it was, even if they had no idea they had the same questions:

 

 

 

They chuckled.

“I can’t believe it. Are you really engaged?”

   
  
_Me neither. I mean, it doesn’t look like much for an engagement ring, but his name is engraved inside so it must be true, right?_

_Engaged. Minho, it’s amazing, isn’t it? I didn’t quite expect getting engaged at this age. Didn’t expect him to ask at all. I mean, he has no reason to want to marry me. Isn’t marriage like the end? He has no reason to want the end; his life is just starting!_

_But here I am, still wondering if this ring’s as real as the way I feel for him._

| 

_What do you mean? Of course I am! Seungri and I have matching rings, with our names engraved on them. What else proof could you want?_

_Ah, you must have expected Seungri to deny me, haven’t you? I know you texted him the day I asked him to marry me. You weren’t supportive to me at all!_

_You’re trying to get on his good side to steal him away from me, right? Well, you can’t. He’s mine. He said yes. We’re going to get married and have fourteen children._  
  
 

Their eyebrows raised.

“Are you sure?”

   
  
_About him, you mean?_

_I don’t know. I love him, that’s what I’m certain of. I can’t really say if we’re soulmates or anything like that because I don’t really believe in it. But having this ring on my finger has been so reassuring about his feelings for me. Like a… like how it is when we have a ten-point lead in the last two minutes of a game._

| 

_Well, not about the sixteen children. Maybe just four. Four’s a good number._

_Oh, you meant if I was sure about him? Youngbae, I have never been more sure in my life. Fuck, I was ready to give up on even trying to be an idol because I wanted to go to school with him. Without any regrets. Seungri is the only constant I need in my life._  
  
 

They pursed their lips.

“Will marrying him make you happy?”

   
  
_Yes._

| 

_No doubt._  
  
 

They hummed.

“What is it like? Being engaged, I mean.”

   
  
_Oh, I don’t know. It feels like this. I don’t think much has changed since he works so much. We still do the things we do, and it’s not like there’s anything different._

_Well, actually, I told you about how we spent the month before uni started at his place right? I still don’t know how he got his manager to agree, but it was lovely. He still had his schedules and I was left alone most of the time, but when he came home, it was majestic._

_Dude, stop laughing, majestic is a word._

_Anyway, it was. Jiyong would be a good husband and I was wife-ing it up, cleaning and cooking and stuff. When he’d come home he’d take care of me like he didn’t have forty bags under his eyes. He was so sweet. It was all so domestic. A bit boring on the afternoons when I was left alone, but the nights and mornings were really were… majestic._

| 

_It’s amazing. Seungri is amazing. I want to see him so much it kills me. I already miss him so much._

_I miss coming home to him. I miss waking up to him. When I came home, he’s always so loud like an excitable puppy and I miss him so much. I’m telling you, Youngbae. I have no idea why so many guys are afraid of commitment. Who would want one-time flings when the long-term is so much better? It makes for a good song, sure, but Seungri, man. I lucked out._

_I’m so excited, if I’m totally honest. It feels refreshing. I don’t feel like I’m tied down at all. It’s like… it’s like the feeling when we finally had our debut? Remember? We knew we had all these new responsibilities but that’s fine because it all came with the dream. The feeling is like that, but ten times better. It’s pretty hard to explain but I’m actually looking forward to getting married to him, you know? It’s like that._  
  
 

They laughed.

“Can I be best man at the wedding?”

   
  
_I’m going to need a bridesmaid, Minho-yah. But if you want to, you could be that instead._

| 

_Be good and I’ll think about it._  
  
   
  
 

 

 

 

They nodded.

 

Minho and Youngbae had nothing much else to say to that. They let the conversations drawl on naturally from there, the September evening closing as peacefully as it begun.

 

Thoughts swam in their heads but they figured it was still too early to be certain or suspicious of anything, like how Seungri was too humble to think highly of himself or how possessive in love Jiyong was. Minho thought that Jiyong was blessed, for getting all that he has, let alone for having someone who cared for him as much as Seungri. Youngbae thought that Seungri was lucky to have someone who loved him as deeply as Jiyong.

 

That night, they settled, deciding for now that it would all turn out well. Seungri and Jiyong have been through a ton through their relationship and they were pros at handling the long distance. Jiyong was no cheater and Seungri wasn’t cheap with his trust. That, they could be certain of.

 

They settled.

 

 

 

The early September evening went on, just as well as it was only a day in series of days and there was more to come.

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

Faster than anyone could have imagined, Seungri had acclimatized to university life in the span of three months. True, he only really needed a month to create a habit, but it was still rather difficult to make it seem like he’s been there for three years instead.

He wasn’t particularly interested in his classes, they were fine and something he could handle. But in everything else, he seemed to have got it down to pat.

He even unwittingly got himself a job at the coffee shop near their apartment building.

Seungri felt reborn, that is, until he met Kim Kibum.

 

 

 

Not that Kibum – or Key, as he liked to be called – was a bad person. If anything, Seungri was endeared by his attractiveness and straightforward attitude.

It wasn’t so much as the _person_ , but more the _question_.

But Seungri guessed it was the _person_ too because no one else had asked him the _question_ in all his life during their first meeting… or at all.

 

 

 

 

 

_“So, what’s your pronoun?”_

 

 

 

 

 

Lee Seunghyun introduced himself as Seungri to everyone in uni because he rather liked being called “Ri” or “Riri.”

Perhaps that should have been his first clue, but he had no other personal wish for it than that.

As it stood, only those closest to him were expected to know of his real name, and he was pleased by that fact.

So Riri, he bloomed. There was no better way to call it. No one had expected it. Then again, maybe they should have because there shouldn’t have been a doubt.

Sungmin, Mino, Minho, and especially Jiyong concurred that although Seungri has changed to some, they would rather say he _reverted back_.

Riri had always been the one who did anything he wanted.

And loved cake.

 

 

 

 

 

There was a popular coffee shop near Seungri and Minho’s apartment building by the name of _Johnny Joe’s_. It was a terrible name, in Mino’s opinion; it sounded like a greasy burger joint more than a café, but he got that their bestseller was called a _Cup of Joe_. Besides, the coffee was a stellar piece of work so he wasn’t to complain about it much.

It was a little pricey, but they were studying in one of Seoul’s _wealthier_ schools. At least the taste was worth it. Mino didn’t mind the extra bus ride to and fro just for the coffee.

He’d learned of the café from his ChemEng seniors, at the middle of the semester just when midterms were approaching. His subjects were no joke and he had to come out of the gates swinging if he wanted to keep his scholarship.

Mino’s family wasn’t poor, and his parents were so proud that he got the scholarship that they raised his allowance considerably. They thought he deserved it after his aloofness in high school. Aside from that, he still had all that money he got from being in a gang.

For the past two weeks, he’d be coming in at least once a week to study comfortably. He’d already had a favourite spot, right by the corner where he wouldn’t be bothered by anyone else. Taking a seat and setting his stuff, Mino’s mind blanked as he stared at the lava cake he bought along with his coffee.

It took him close to two years to get out rather cleanly and in good terms from his affiliation, but he has paid his dues, albeit difficultly. They shouldn’t bother him anymore, nor did he want to connect himself with the likes of them again.

The Seungri incident had done a number on him; it made him feel sick to the core like it was he who raped Seungri – _raped,_ there was nothing _almost_ about it because Seungri got touched where he didn’t want to.

But the event knocked him to his feet and got him shaking scared because he didn’t want to end as someone like that. He was already beating people up and bullying them for money. He was so lucky they hadn’t gotten him to go on drug runs, else he might not have gotten out at all.

Seungri, at least, never blamed him. He caught him by the arm nearly four weeks later and forcefully dragged him home.

Without a word.

With the cutest pout on his face.

And Mino knew that sometimes Jiyong checked other girls out, but Seungri was the only boy in his life and Mino got _why_.

Well, one of the reasons why. Their Team Princess was just sometimes too cute, Mino wanted to smack him to oblivion.

The dinner had been indulgent, to say the least. All-American with the cheesiest macaroni and as much fried chicken he could eat. He was an athlete. He was supposed to watch his figure because he didn’t work hard on his muscles just to let them go to waste by pigging out.

But Seungri had done all that work, he didn’t want to offend him by not eating. That would be rude. Plus, he could squeeze an extra workout the next day.

“Damn, baby,” Mino whined after, hand on his bloated stomach. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Seungri rolled his eyes. He picked up the boy’s cleaned plate and put it in the sink. He didn’t run out of food, but he hadn’t quite expected Mino to finish half of the pot and four pieces of chicken.

Mino eyed him in the silence that followed. It’s been a while since they hung out together like this. He promised to stay away, and he did. Seungri was the one who insisted he came, and he had to admit he had a soft spot for him. Undeniable almost, when all Seungri had to do was sigh how he had to go home alone and Mino was already tripping all over himself to wrap his arm protectively around Seungri’s shoulders.

He got free food out of it, so he guessed a day couldn’t hurt his personal oath too much.

Minutes passed of him just seating on the Lee’s dining table before Mino wondered what was taking Seungri so long. He’d ventured over to where he supposed the other was and found him sitting before the oven.

“What are you doing?” Mino gently asked, because the boy had seemed to be caught in some kind of a trance.

Seungri did not even spare him a glance. “Come here,” he beckoned just as softly. “Watch the soufflé rise with me.”

Mino gingerly sat beside his childhood friend, eyes transfixed on the clear glass windows. “That’s a soufflé?”

“Yes,” Seungri answered simply, keeping vigil over the two chocolate cakes rising beautifully in the neon orange little bowls. “Ever had one before?”

“Nope.”

“Good,” Seungri smiled. “I hope you’ll like it.”

Mino scoffed. If Seungri were planning to make him fat, then this was a pretty good start. Speaking of which, “When did you start making these anyway?”

“While we were eating,” the boy replied as if it were nothing. It probably was in his experienced hands. “I just tossed it in there a few minutes ago.”

Mino had really nothing else to say to that.

Seungri sighed. He leaned his head onto Mino’s shoulders and the latter stiffened. “This is nice,” murmured the smaller of the two. “I haven’t hung out with you guys for so long.”

Mino’s eyes widened and darted to the other, yet Seungri appeared to be in a daze – he couldn’t have meant to say what he said. “Seunghyun?” he’d asked cautiously, needing the boy to explain.

Seungri’s head snapped over to him immediately in a realization. He stood up and fidgeted with his hands, suddenly sweaty and shaking. “I... I...” he tried, but his nerves got the better of him and Mino was sure now that he hadn’t meant to say what he said.

It was at that moment that the taller boy’s resolve shattered. Seungri was lonely, that much was clear. It was what tended to happen to bullied people, as far as he was exposed to. They lost confidence. They felt remarkably powerless. They tended to shrink into themselves on the off-chance they wouldn’t get noticed, so that they wouldn’t get bullied more. Then the people around them would stay away, wanting a different fate from the poor soul.

_Shit_ , it really was his entire fault. How had he not thought of the follow through?

Suddenly, Seungri was gripping on the front of his shirt, commanding his attention with determined eyes wet with fear.

“Stop blaming yourself,” Seungri sniffed. “How can I be grateful to you if you feel sorry for what you did?”

Mino’s heart thrummed. Even if it shocked him how the other could see right through him, the boy still had it wrong. “I’m not sorry for what I did,” he explained, placing his own hand on the other’s. “I’m sorry for what I didn’t do.”

“What good will that do, then?” Seungri spat, and Mino heard the bitterness and regret he must have also felt.

And Mino realized, _nothing_. Regretting what he didn’t do would do nothing but more wrong to Seungri. Mino was practically one of the few real friends the boy had. To leave him would only cause more harm, more pain. And if he really wanted Seungri to be all right, then the first step would be to be his _friend_ again.

Man, he really was stupid.

So he kept quiet. And Seungri retreated his hand, acknowledging the understanding they silently met.

 

Mino blinked. He chuckled.

That was one hell of a flashback to have via chocolate cake.

He stabbed at it, letting the chocolate ooze out. He felt bored now, wanting to meet a certain friend and see if he’d like to do something later even if they would meet the next day for basketball practice. The desert was warm against his tongue. Good, but he could still remember how the soufflé tasted wonderfully sweet.

He sighed.

“Disappointed?”

“A little bit,” he admitted.

“Why’s that?”

“It’s not as sweet as I wanted,” Mino answered.

Seungri chuckled in front of him.

And – wait. “Seunghyun?” Mino startled, face morphing into ugly confusion.

Seungri laughed. “Oh, man. You’re an idiot.”

Mino chose to ignore the jibe, if only for the sake of camaraderie and their coach would kill him if he were to injure one of their more promising point guards.

“So?” the other prompted. He was sitting on the seat before Mino, wearing a loose pair of jeans and their varsity sweatshirt. “Why was it disappointing?”

Mino pouted. “I told you – it’s not sweet enough.”

“That’s because you like your cakes on the side of diabetes, Song Mino,” the smaller boy laughed. “God knows how you could handle your coffee as black as Tiffany Rue’s soul.”

Mino shuddered at the name. God, Mino hated that bitch.

“Why do you care anyway?” he asked instead, refusing to talk about the she-demon.

Seungri shrugged mysteriously. He took Mino’s fork and tasted the cake for himself. “I made it.”

Seconds passed.

“Say that again?”

Seungri stared at him. “I made it,” he said more clearly.

“When?” Mino spluttered.

“Just now. Just got out of the kitchen, actually. But I saw you so I came over.”

Mino honestly didn’t know what to think of that. “So you work here?” he clarified.

“Yup.”

“Why?” the power forward went on. “You’re freaking loaded.”

Seungri shot him an offended look. “My step-father’s loaded. I’m not.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Mino hissed, rolling his eyes. “You can’t fool me; you use that man’s money as much as you use the bathroom.”

Seungri nodded. “That’s true.” Then he rested his head on his propped hand and grinned. “I just work here so I could use their oven. We don’t have one at the apartment and the owner lets me use it so long as we sell whatever I make.”

“Shit, you made the breakfast soufflé last Monday, didn’t you?!” Mino shouted.

Seungri nodded.

“I almost sued this place because it tasted so much like yours!”

“I’m glad you recognize some my work,” Seungri said teasingly, thoroughly amused by this friend who was being extra.

Mino rode along. “I’m a big fan.”

“Yeah, you are,” Seungri laughed again. “Now if you only paid for all my food I let you eat for free, I’d be a millionaire.”

Mino laughed back. This was nice. It was still a little disconcerting to know that Seungri had the time to _work_ while he could barely fit everything he had to study with everything else, but if it got him laughing like that, Mino couldn’t care much. Seungri was having fun and being free and it was so different from how he was in high school, Mino was eternally glad.

Mino was grateful.

 

 

 

 

 

 “Babe,” Sungmin said, eyeing the check-out counter rather sceptically. “Are you sure you need all this?”

“Yup,” the younger boy answered, positive and proud as if he’d found the answer to life’s purpose.

Sungmin hoped it wasn’t secretly four different sets of body washes, lotions, and fragrances. Particularly from Victoria’s Secret (not that he had anything against the brand, but all the lingerie around them was making him uncomfortable). There were far more zeroes on that than he could afford.

The cashier eyed them with a little amused smile. Sungmin bristled.  “Would you like to get an Angel Card?” she politely asked them both. “You could easily accumulate up to two hundred points if you go through this purchase today.”

“Oh! What’s that?” Seungri perked. Sungmin had caught him observing the store’s red collection. He couldn’t say if he was ready for that information.

“It’s like a credit card,” she explained. “But for every purchase, you get points. And every 250 points you get, you get a gift!”

Seungri hummed in contemplation.

“You should probably go for it,” Sungmin decided for him. “You like this brand don’t you?”

“I do,” Seungri replied easily, turning his body toward the older boy.

Sungmin smiled. “I’m assuming you’ll send a set each to the mothers and your sister, and keep one for yourself?”

Seungri nodded.

“Then go get one,” the older encouraged. “You’ll probably return anyway.”

“Okay.” Seungri giggled, amazed at how well Sungmin knew him still. Then he turned to the lady and expressed his assent.

She pointed them to the customer service counter just beside to properly apply. “Might I just say what a cute couple you are,” she couldn’t help but remark before she let them go. “You’re both so good-looking, I feel a little jealous for our gender.”

Seungri blushed. Sungmin laughed. “Oh no,” the latter denied. “We’re not a couple. I’m just a really supportive friend.”

“But I do have a boyfriend,” Seungri said quickly, trying to amend something though he wasn’t sure what exactly.

 

 

 

When Seungri invited him to the mall, Sungmin was under the guise that the younger wanted to be out to get a _few_ things. Really, Seungri’s excuse consisted of groceries and other _essentials_. He didn’t know that he’d end up lugging eight bags full of whatever caught Seungri’s fancy into the back of his car. It would have been fine too, if only Seungri had the decency to carry at least one of these things. But no, the boy – oh wait, _girl_ would have been more fitting – was in one of his princess moods.

It shouldn’t be his fault that he was the only one out of them that had a car, which each of them liked to take advantage of liberally. It was for that reason that it was Sungmin who got dragged grocery shopping or finding little trinkets that Seungri could decorate the apartment with, or whatever else Seungri wanted to do.

“Stop pouting, Sungminnie,” the princess suddenly warned. “I cook for you and make sure the four of us have good diets. Don’t you even dare complain.”

Sungmin sighed. He couldn’t argue with that, even if it was a bit of an exaggeration. Except for Mino.

Minho had all the right, being Seungri’s roommate, and it was really convenient for the both of them. Seungri cooked and shopped; Minho made sure the apartment was clean every week. But Mino did nothing. He got free food, and he lounged around like he owned the place. More than often, Minho complained during practice that Mino should pick up his slack and pay them for all their troubles. Sungmin was given the same treatment, but he hadn’t been _abusive_.

Seungri had rarely complained – rarely, because there were those times when he’d go into his bitch fits and sass them all to next week.

Sungmin assumed that it’s because their rowdy presence brought him peace. He doubted that the boy had a bustling home, being an only child of workaholic parents. Perhaps Seungri _liked_ taking care of people that much.

Seemed only appropriate, in the end.

Seungri was tapping on his legs on their way back. He’d been staring quietly out the window, watching as they went through the streets of Seoul while some girl group was playing in the background. Seungri had always been fonder of them, even if his boyfriend was an idol himself.

A monster rookie, Sungmin remembered the term was. Truly, he’s heard some of his classmates play _Good Boy_ and fawn over the duo in most of his classes. It’s been four months since the debut. He heard that was a feat or some shit.

Of course, Sungmin and the others had kept a tight lid on it, if only for Seungri’s sake.

Seungri suddenly slapped him on the chest.

“Minnie!” he gasped, turning to the older boy who could practically the shining light bulb above his head. “Let’s get waxed!”

The pain bloomed in Sungmin’s chest and hot damn Seungri’s been training well. “What?” he wheezed. Needless to say he failed to catch whatever Seungri said.

“You get waxed, don’t you?” the younger clarified, excitement in his voice. “And have your eyebrows threaded? I need to look pretty this weekend!”

Sungmin nodded reluctantly. “I do,” he said, unembarrassed by the admission. He liked being smooth. He liked that feel on his skin. “But not the eyebrow thing.”

“That’s fine, you don’t need it,” Seungri remarked. He waved his hand dismissively, dangerously, at Sungmin’s face. (That’s how he knew their Riri had been spending too much time with Choi boy Minho. They were picking up each other’s habits.) “I, on the other unfortunate hand, have bushy eyebrows. And Jiyong _really_ liked when I was smooth, you know?”

Sungmin blanched. “Oh, god, stop. I love you but what you do with Jiyong in the bedroom is not something I’d like to hear.”

“Aww, Minnie~”

Sungmin’s hand flew up to pinch at Seungri’s side. “I swear, Seungri, or I’ll drop you here. Just because Jimin listens to you like that doesn’t mean I have to.”

Seungri sighed, a childish pout on his face.

Sungmin missed the days of innocent Seungri, when he would blush at the slightest insinuation of even a kiss with Kwon Jiyong. But now, six months into their engagement and five months into university, Seungri was _living it up_. Not that he could be blamed; the boy had just tasted freedom in every sense of the word.

That, and a very good financial backing.

“Just how much do you earn to spend this much anyway?” Sungmin asked, changing their destination to the beauty shop he always went to whenever he needed a pamper day. The service was great and the price was student-friendly.

Seungri settled in his seat. He was checking his eyebrows in the mirror when he answered, “A lot, honestly. I get paid by commission and cakes don’t get sold cheap. Plus, boss delivers some to all of his cafes around the city. He said it really sells well and actually boosted up their customers per week, so he was really happy about it.”

Sungmin hummed. “You’re doing pretty well, then?”

“Far better than I’d originally imagined.”

“And what did Jiyong say about it?”

Seungri scoffed. “No much. He made four times more than I did, easy.”

Sungmin laughed. There was no question about that.

“But he did say only he can have my cake and eat it, if you know what I mean.”

Sungmin swerved. “Oh, God! What did I say? What did I just say?! You think I was fucking kidding? Get out of my car right now!”

Seungri laughed.

Well, Sungmin thought, at least Seungri was laughing more freely. He wasn’t picking his words anymore. He did anything he wanted. He was... different. He’s changed for the better, more comfortable in his skin, and he smiled so much more than what he remembered from their many video calls.

Sungmin liked him better now.

Well, not _right now_.

_Right now_ , Sungmin hated his guts.

 

 

 

 

 

Jiyong was waiting on his make-up chair for the director to call him for his turn. He and Youngbae had a photoshoot for Elle Magazine. Not that he wasn’t thankful – the opportunity was great, and he was starting to get known as a fashion icon. He didn’t exactly know _why_ , the company just let him wear what he wanted to and somehow he got praised. And paid. It was great.

The downside was he got less time to spend with Seungri. He had more schedules piled up and though he was glad he had work, there were days when he just wanted to make a break for it and see his family. He missed his mom. He missed his dad. He even missed Dami.

He missed Seungri.

He very much missed his lovely fiancé who was glowing more and more each of the rare times they saw each other. Ever since the engagement months ago, Jiyong could count with his fingers the number of times they’ve met. They hadn’t seen each other in a three months. It was pitiful how pathetic Jiyong felt.

He gave his lover a call.

Seungri picked up almost instantly.

_“Hello?”_

“Hey, hun,” Jiyong hummed. He had a thousand ways of calling his lover. He liked to use them all. “I had a little bit of free time. I miss you.”

Seungri laughed. _“Must not be much. You never admit you miss me off the bat.”_

“You know that’s not true.” Jiyong played with the seams of his ripped jeans. “I always miss you.”

_“I miss you too.”_

Jiyong’s heart stuttered delightfully. Seungri had said it softly, the way Jiyong knew that there was no lie in it. “What are you up to?”

_“I just got back from training. Minho’s taking too long in the bath._ If he uses my shampoo again, I’m gonna rip him a new one _.”_ Seungri had shouted the last part, obviously aimed at his roommate.

“Selfish,” Jiyong remarked, not at all phased at Seungri’s cute possessiveness.

_“It’s strawberry, oppa!”_ was thee younger’s excuse, using his currently favorite fruit as an alibi. Jiyong knew Seungri was possessive because it came from him.

Also, _currently_ because Seungri’s favorite fruit last week was coconut, because Jiyong had given him a lotion that had coconut in it. Jiyong wasn’t going to complain anytime soon.

“I’ll get you a new one, love.”

Seungri groaned. _“I don’t want a new one. I don’t need a new one.”_

There was a pause. Then Seungri’s voice was serious when he said, _“Stop getting me things, Ji. You earned your money. You should save it. I make some on my own, you know?”_

“I know,” Jiyong admitted. “But I like spoiling you. And you never say no anyway.”

_“I’ll say no next time. Unless it’s something shiny. I like shiny things.”_

Jiyong laughed. “So the next time I give you something, it should be shiny?”

_“And very expensive.”_

“Ve – you want a car, don’t you?” Jiyong blanched. It still surprised him how shameless his love could be at times, when it came to material things. Jiyong wished –

_“One of my classmates has this sports car she drives around campus and it purrs so nicely, Ji!”_

Jiyong almost choked. “Do you even know what model it is?!”

_“No, but it’s pretty.”_

“Great,” Jiyong humored. He rolled his eyes. It was typical of Seungri to like something because it was pretty, or shiny, or fluffy… or pink. “So shiny and expensive. Got it.”

_“Good.”_

Jiyong chuckled out a breath. Shaking his head, he had  giddy smile. His stylist smirked at him, endeared. “What am I going to do with you, jagi?”

_“Spoil me with material wealth is always good,”_ Seungri answered immediately.

Jiyong snorted. “You do know you’re contradicting yourself, right? Wanting me to spoil you but not wanting me to spend my money on you?”

Seungri snorted right back. _“I’m mysterious, you should figure me out.”_

Jiyong thought he has, more than Seungri realized.

There was a comfortable pause. It didn’t last long. Seungri was more talkative ever since he entered university. _“Oppa, I have a question.”_

“All right.”

_“So I was listening to the song you sent me on the way home.”_

“ _The Window_?”

_“Yeah.”_

“I just sent you the raw version. It’s yet to be arranged.”

_“No, I know. I just… you said I inspired you for it?”_

“You… us. But, yeah, you.”

_“Ah… well, it’s good.”_

Jiyong paused. “Is there something wrong?”

_“No,”_ answered the younger hastily. _“Nothing. I loved it. It’s really good.”_

Jiyong mulled it over. If there was really something wrong, Seungri would have said so.

_“Thank you.”_

_Wouldn’t he?_

Jiyong heard a door open in the other line. Minho’s voice was distant but clear: “ _Your turn, Princess.”_

Seungri’s voice was the same when he’d rebutted: _“About freaking time, frog_.”

Then Seungri got back to Jiyong. The older knew it was time to go.

_“I’ll take my bath now, oppa. Do well! I love you!”_

“Yes, dear” Jiyong sighed. “I love you.”

As the line went dead, Jiyong couldn’t help the smile that graced his lips. Seungri sounded… happier. The change ad been quick enough for him to notice, not that Seungri has told him exactly anything about it. Jiyong was learning how to read him, even from a distance. Seungri was happy.

That was all he needed to be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Minho spent most of his days with Seungri. They woke up at the same time, whoever woke up first at 6AM trudging to the other’s room to nudge him awake. Minho used it to get it his daily workout. Seungri prepared to go to work. By the time Minho got home, breakfast would be left on the table and Seungri would have already been elbows deep in cake flour.

Minho would pick him up from work in the mornings (but not when Seungri would suddenly decide to pop by the cafe in the afternoon to get some extra baking in). They would spend most of their free time between classes together and come to training as a pair. They’d bring each other’s water bottles, pack extra shirts or socks or towels just in case the other forgot his, or at least make sure they’ve got everything. They went to orientations, parties, tried new restaurants, discovered new places.

They even went and gone on a trip to the beach, just the two of them, outside of Seoul, without telling any of their parents – and Seungri practically had two sets then.

Jiyong was writhing with righteous jealousy when he found out. Jimin, Sungmin, and Mino too, but none was as ready to kill and scream bloody murder as Kwon Jiyong. Minho had the best sort of fun.

Schadenfreude, he’d learned it was called.

But his nights – when the lights were off and all that shone were the stars in the sky and in his eyes – they were spent with a man named Kim Kibum.

Minho didn’t mean to fall in love. He hadn’t even known he could fall in love with another man, and this was coming from a person who has met Kwon Jiyong. Although, if Minho were to be honest, his opinion of Jiyong was heavily biased from the start. Even then, this came from someone who was very close friends with sweet and kind and adorable Lee Seunghyun who is loved by all his friends.

But not _like that_ , because they all had a tremendous amount of respect for his relationship choices.

So, point was, his nights were spent with Kim Kibum, and most often literally.

There were a lot of things Minho didn’t think he’d do until he met this man. He never thought he’d ever want to kiss a man, want to hold a man. He never once thought that he’d engage with a casual fuck until Kibum offered and it felt like it was his best chances at a relationship with him.

Never had he thought that he’d want a relationship with Kibum in the first place.

They were polar opposites, their love-hate relationship created so much tension between them it was electric. Minho fed on it; it gave him life and a challenge to live for.

But this wasn’t his story. Neither was this Kibum’s.

So on the Saturday morning he woke up alone in bed, after accidentally telling Kibum last night that he loved him, Minho couldn’t be any more thankful to Seungri for doing what he did.

He had just opened his bedroom door when he heard Seungri’s voice.

“I’m his roommate,” he’d said. And Minho is a little afraid to come out. He hadn’t told Seungri anything about Kibum. “Would you like breakfast?”

Leave it to Seungri to offer food to everyone.

Minho peaked a little. Kibum was fidgeting. “Aren’t you going to ask what I’m doing here?”

“I don’t think it’s really any of my business, if Minho had chosen not to tell me about it.”

Minho flinched at Kibum’s scoff. “Of course he’d be embarrassed about me to even his roommate. Typical.”

It was silent then. Minho wanted to move, but he’d been struck by what Kibum thought of him. It was his mistake; he hadn’t made it very clear.

“I know I’m just an experiment.”

Minho loved him.

And Seungri must have known that to be the case if he made decisions stupid enough as this.

Seungri chuckled, surprising both his best friend and the man foolishly in love with him as well.

“You’re running away, aren’t you?” he asked a little too gently, perceptive and reminiscing. Minho watched as the lines of Kibum’s body stiffened. “You’re leaving too early in the morning, and Minho hasn’t let you before because I’m always awake at this time.”

Before Kibum can say anything, and this Minho saw because his hand was about to go up in protest, Seungri continued, “It’s okay. You didn’t know. But aren’t you? Running away?”

Kibum took a few seconds to answer, but when he did, Minho expected him to be hostile. Instead, Kibum confessed. “I’m just trying to save myself. It’s not the first time someone used me.”

“I see,” Seungri hummed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“But I don’t think it’s like that. If Minho didn’t tell me about you, it’s just because he didn’t know what the right thing to do was. Minho is sincere, and I know you know that too. He’s fucking perfect.”

“Are you... were you together? Before, I mean.”

Seungri shook his head, and Minho would have given anything to see Kibum’s face then. “No, but he is my best friend.”

“Why not?” challenged Kibum, crossing his arms and cocking his hip to the side. At least he was less hostile now. Kibum was naturally a _bitch_ – said so himself, and his first language was sass. Minho should have known by then that he and Seungri would _click_. “If he’s so fucking perfect, you should like him and shouldn’t be helping me. I know you’re not straight, I can smell you.”

Seungri laughed, clearly amused and enthralled. “I do like him, but I’m in love with someone else.” He raised his left hand. “Already engaged, actually.” Then Seungri lowered his hand and schooled his expression to a more inviting one. “And I can tell that Minho really loves you. He was the biggest flirt in high school, the beginning of the year even. Then he stopped. At first, I was curious. But I found out that he was taking you home and I’m not stupid to not see the clues and not connect them together.”

Kibum was silent. Seungri took it as a go ahead. “I ran away too, when my fiancé told me he finally liked me – took him a damn year too and I just bolted.” Seungri gave a small laugh. “I ran, and honestly it just hurt us both. Pointlessly. So maybe you should just face him. Or your feelings. I’m sorry because I know it’s none of my business, but Minho is my best friend, and I think he’ll be happy with you.”

Kibum tapped his foot. He always tapped his foot when he had nothing else to say.

Seungri smiled. “Breakfast offer still stands. I have croissants.”

Seconds ticked by and Minho held his breathe. If Kibum refused, he was ready to run after him out the door.

“If you have Nutella, I’ll love you more than I love Minho,” Kibum remarked, and Minho didn’t hear the smile. All he had heard was _I love Minho_.

Seungri winked. “You didn’t even have to ask.”

 

 

 

Later, after Minho decided that he’d given the two of them enough time and had breakfast with them, Kibum promised to have that talk with him as soon as he got back from Daegu for the weekend. Before he left, Minho asked why he’d trusted Seungri so easily when Kibum rarely did that.

The pretty male smiled up at him. “When she caught me sneaking out, the first thing she said was ‘no wonder he keeps you.’” Kibum laughed. “She tried covering up but she spluttered so much I just introduced myself to save her all the trouble.”

Minho’s brain malfunctioned. “What?”

Kibum’s eyes were mysterious and taunting, as if they were proud he knew something Minho hadn’t.

“She likes to be called Riri. Try to keep up.”

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

There was no sudden epiphany, no pull-the-trigger-shoot-me-in-the-heart sort of sensation that blew him out of proportions into a world of personal identity crisis.

No, if anything, it was a slow descent into confusion, as if he found himself on a straight road and the more he walked, the more he got lost. Which is ironic because Seungri was not straight at all.

The breakfast with Kibum was wonderful. Seungri found that he liked meeting new people, all part of the fresh start he was going for, and so far, Key had been the one he liked best. He was straightforward and fearless, and this just off of their first meeting. Plus, he was so unfairly pretty it made Seungri’s skin prickle.

Kibum had lathered his croissant generously with Nutella. Seungri didn’t mind. He’d done the same.

“So,” Kibum began, light and easy as if he’d asked the question so many times before. “What’s your pronoun?”

Seungri looked up in confusion. The question flew over his head. Pronouns couldn’t be owned, could they? Unless they’re like necklaces or something?

The other must have seen the lost puppy that he was and smirked. “I’m asking what you identify as, Seungri-ssi.”

“Just Seungri is fine,” the curvier boy answered. Kibum was stick-thin, thinner than Jiyong who was made up of sinewy muscle more than anything else. Yet, on Kibum, it was pretty. He made Seungri think of slinky cats and kinky suits he could easily slip into. Bare-faced and hair strewn, Seungri could only _wish_ he looked that good in the morning. He had the best skin Seungri’s seen. “Or Riri. Or Ri.”

Kibum’s fine eyebrow rose at him. Even they were interesting. One of them was split in two. “Riri?”

“Cute, huh?” Seungri grinned. He licked at the chocolate left on his lips. Peeling the croissant layer by layer, he ate it outside in, dipping in chocolate whenever he felt like it. “And it’s like super close to _Rihanna_. I _love_ her.”

“Huh.”Kibum’s eyes were wide in curiosity. He wondered if Seungri was just pulling his leg or if he really didn’t know. “Riri,” Kibum smiled, “just out of curiosity, are you a _he_ or a _she_?”

The cute little confused scrunch on Seungri’s forehead was back. “I’m a he, aren’t I?”

“Well, if that’s who you are,” Kibum kindly laughed. At Seungri’s continued stare, the other clarified further. “For example, Minho’s a man. So he’s a _he_. I’m a man, too. I’m a he, even if I like other men.”

“Oh,” Seungri went, as if it all clicked in his head. “I’m a _she_.”

Kibum sat back contentedly. “I knew it.”

Minho had walked in then, and the conversation shifter to a lighter one.

Seungri liked Kibum; he did.

So they hung out more after that, but Seungri learned that there was more to it than being a _she_.

 

 

 

 

 

A year passed.

 

 

 

 

 

Seungri got used to being referred to as Riri. None of his old friends called him Riri; it was either his real name or _babe_. But Kibum called him Riri every day, and they became such close friends that they saw each other almost every day.

It took Kibum eight months to accept that Seungri was engaged to the biggest rookie idol sensation. Seungri told him five months into the friendship, when it was decided that the flamboyant boy could be trusted. It took a particularly well-timed video call from Jiyong to convince him.

Ever since then, every time Minho made Jiyong jealous whenever they had their bff-moments, Seungri would pull Kibum to some party somewhere and retaliate at Minho.

Seungri also got used to Kibum referring to him as _her_. It made him feel good, a different sense of _right_. It was like there was a puzzle piece that fit snugly into place, but the picture didn’t match. But when Kibum called him a _she_ , the piece got turned and the puzzle was correct and complete.

And Seungri didn’t know if he were.

He supposed he should have started referring to himself as _she_ as well. Subconsciously, it was how he felt. Physically, he was different. It was wrong, he thought, to think so differently when the obvious answer was in front of him, staring at him glaringly from the mirror.

_He_ was no _she_.

And yet… and yet there were days when he’d look at the mirror and think back to the schoolgirl uniform he kept at his closet back in Chuncheon. He wondered if it would still look good on him. Surely, it couldn’t fit him anymore. He was taller, he filled in his spaces better, and though his shoulders weren’t as wide as his teammates’, he still wasn’t… _pretty_.

No matter how much Jiyong told him otherwise.

He hated it; he’d thought he’d gotten away from this feeling already. He was uncomfortable in his own skin, lathering on lotion and perfume if only to futilely hide the stench of his rotten soul. He was _wrong_.

And he had no idea how to make him _right_.

 

 

 

GDYB had won Rookie of the Year. They had a comeback in the works, and Jiyong was busier than he had previously been. Seungri supposed that it was all good, since it meant that Jiyong’s star was shining bright.

Jiyong was very professional, a young man who clearly knew what he wanted and what he needed to do. His audience could see all of his hard work, YG did give the duo a reality show. And Seungri would be first in line to defend Jiyong from any critic.

Jiyong tried his best to incorporate Seungri as much as he could in his life. He’d invite his fiancé on his schedules when the younger was free or when it wasn’t too dangerous to. He would even force Seungri most of the time, as he would be the one to shy from public exposure. So the rapper was always mindful of Seungri’s privacy.

Still, he didn’t know how he got roped into all of it. Never in his life did he expect to record a song with his fiancé, if he were to be frank about it.

“Babe, hold the note a little bit longer, please,” Jiyong said through the intercom. His words were polite, but Seungri could hear how tired he was. “And you were tightening again.”

Seungri’s throat felt dry. He took a swig from the almost empty bottle of water they’d given him earlier. He’d nodded when the music started again. Five seconds in, he croaked.

Seungri was eternally embarrassed. It would have been fine, he presumed, if they were alone. But there was Producer-hyung beside Jiyong, giving him bored looks. Then there was Chaerin and some younger boys named B.I. and Bobby at the far end of the sofa. Chaerin had been happy to see him, but now she was giving him pitying looks. The other boys were observing him, and Seungri couldn’t help but feel judged.

“I asked you to practice, didn’t I?” Jiyong sighed, irritated.

A lump formed in Seungri’s throat and he was too embarrassed to speak up. His heart hammered.

Youngbae perked from his perch on the table and clapped his hands. “Let’s take a break! I’m a little hungry.”

His wide grin was directed at Seungri, eyes nothing but slits.

“Just once more,” Jiyong grumbled, already fiddling with the controls.

Youngbae’s strides were quick. He’d had the door to the recording booth opened when he’d said, “No. I need a thirty-minute break. Seungri does too!”

And before Jiyong could further protest, Youngbae had the younger boy out of the studio.

 

 

The YG cafeteria was spacious. Sleek and shiny like the rest of the building; Seungri should have been excited to try out if it were as good as he heard it was. As it were, he felt too embarrassed, humiliated in front of Jiyong’s friends and co-workers. He just couldn’t get it right, not as much as Jiyong wanted it to be.

And he understood, he did. Jiyong did tell him to practice, did give him enough time to practice, did direct him on how he wanted it sung. And it wasn’t like it was a whole verse. They couldn’t be more than a few lines, barely fifteen percent of the song.

Youngbae placed a carton of chocolate milk in front of him, taking the seat just opposite. Seungri smiled. He was kind enough to remember what he liked. He was nice. “You have to forgive him,” Youngbae said, talking about his best friend and Seungri’s fiancé. “It’s not you; he always gets like this when we record. He’s a bit of a perfectionist.”

Seungri scoffed. He didn’t know that. He fiddled with ring on his finger and sighed. “I just want to get it right. I shouldn’t have agreed to this in the first place.”

Youngbae laughed softly. He dropped his head on his hand and pouted. He didn’t like that Seungri was sad. The younger had been a support not only to Jiyong, but to Youngbae too. Ever since they met, even if it was just through text, Seungri never failed to cheer them on. God knew how it kept Jiyong from giving up and going back home. Youngbae was terribly aware that most of his songs came from his muse, this university kid sitting before him, droopy eyed and ashen.

“It’s all right, Seungri-ah,” he placated. He smiled at Seungri when the younger looked up. “When I heard that Jiyong wanted to make you sing in one of our tracks, I’ll be honest, I was a tad sceptical. But when you sang in that booth, I understood why. You have a nice voice, undeveloped but it’s… it’s what the song needs.”

Seungri scrunched his nose. He wasn’t even going to act like he understood. He stabbed the straw into the foil barrier, halving drink in almost one aggressive sip. His voice was _not_ what Jiyong needed; YG was big, someone was bound to have a better voice than his in that big of a building.

Someone like –

“Youngbae-ssi!” a girl called. Seungri recognized her, of course he did. Her pretty face was something he could barely forget. She was beautiful and cute, packed into a petite loveable package. She was part of this four-member girl group that YG produced after the success of GDYB. “Jiyongie’s looking for you.”

Youngbae rolled his eyes. “It hasn’t even been five minutes,” he muttered under his breath. He ranted back at her, “Well, if _he’s_ looking for _me_ , _he_ should find _me_.”

Seungri was sure there were too many words emphasized in his sentence, but he didn’t quite get what he meant, not so long as this girl stood in front of him. She made him feel… inadequate.

She noticed him staring and smiled shyly. “Hi,” she greeted, jutting out her dainty hand for Seungri to shake. “You must be Seungri. I’m Dara. Jiyong has talked a lot about you.”

Seungri stood up quickly for a more proper greeting. “Please, pardon my manners,” he bowed. “I… I was a bit star struck.”

She laughed. He hated it. He hated how adorable it was. “My, you’re cute,” she praised. Then as soon as she appeared, she was ready to leave. “Bae, seriously. He keeps scrunching his nose.”

“I get it; he’s pissed.”

“Very,” she turned. “You better return quickly. See you soon, Seungri-ah.”

The younger made a sorry attempt for a goodbye as she left. His hands were trembling.

She was _perfect_.

When he looked over to Youngbae, the singer was fiddling with his phone.

“Shouldn’t we go back?” Seungri nervously asked. He wasn’t expecting to see her. He didn’t want to see her at all.

“Are you ready to go back?”

No, Seungri really didn’t want to go back and it showed on his face. Youngbae took the cue and shrugged. “Then we stay here for as long as you need.”

Seungri didn’t protest and sat there quietly for minutes. Youngbae was a good friend, even if their relationship was based largely on texts and frowned upon by Jiyong. Though soon, Seungri’s guilt got to him and he had to ask, “Don’t you have work to do?”

“I’m allowed to take breaks,” laughed Youngbae, rolling his eyes. “I’m not as workaholic as Jiyong is.”

“He is?”

“Very. I suppose it’s all right, though. He gets results and the results are amazing so it all pays off.”

Seungri hummed. That shouldn’t have made him feel down more than it did.

It didn’t take long before Jiyong came sauntering in and pulling him off his seat, wordlessly taking him away from Youngbae, heeding none of the older boy’s protest. Seungri was led to the elevator in silence, and he had the feeling that if only they were alone, Jiyong wouldn’t have his arms in a tight knot. With quick steps and a charismatic disposition, Jiyong led him outside, to a roof deck lined with a chain link fence, overlooking the city.

It was high noon. It was hot. But Seungri burned from Jiyong more than anything else.

He was pushed to the fence, lips on his before his back could feel the flimsy metal. It scared him, the fear of falling rattled in his ears as the fence flexed under both of their weights. Jiyong pressed into him, hungry and growling, making Seungri dizzier than any height could.

They kissed until their lips felt numb, until Seungri could no longer tell whether the taste on his tongue was solely Jiyong. It was only when the rapper pulled away that Seungri realized that his own arms wound around Jiyong’s neck, that Jiyong’s fingers were digging into his hips painfully.

“What are you?” Jiyong growled, eyes dark, menacing, expectant of a specific answer that could only fall from Seungri’s lips.

“I’m yours,” Seungri answered, dazed, as if he was nothing but.

 

 

 

Seungri has long accepted that his relationship with Jiyong was… unconventional. It was secret, with an idol who had a dating ban, between _two men_. Physically, that is. Plus, they barely saw each other it was practically long-distance.

And they had their own faults, extreme to the point that it might have been deal-breakers in most relationships. In theirs, it was almost necessary.

Jiyong was very possessive, so Seungri knew to simply let the other cage him in his arms because he was feeling territorial, even if he abhorred the smell of smoke. Seungri did let Youngbae whisk him away in a place where Jiyong brought him, at a time when he was demanded to stay. Seungri should have known better.

So, really, Seungri had no right to protest when Jiyong kept him pressed into the chain link fence, the fingers of his left dancing underneath his shirt, the fingers of his right holding a cigarette, his lips sucking alternatively between the cancer stick and the base of Seungri’s neck. This was familiar, this Seungri was relaxed in.

“What did Youngbae say?” Jiyong asked, a tad too guarded as he blew smoke by Seungri, away from his face.

Seungri clutched him closer, because he knew that this was what Jiyong needed: reassurance that he was his and his alone. “Nothing; just that you tend to _overwork_.”

Seungri felt the scoff more than he heard it.

With his fore and ring fingers, the younger nudged Jiyong’s head away. “What does that mean, Ji? Have you been lying to me when I ask you to go to sleep?”

“I just don’t want you to get worried,” was the excuse, but they both knew it was something Jiyong would keep doing no matter what. It was something Seungri kept telling him off of, like his smoking, but Jiyong doesn’t listen. So Seungri stopped reminding.

It meant less fights. It meant less stress for Seungri. It meant less weary sighs from Jiyong. It meant they gave each other room to breathe while saying that they were still there for each other.

“I also met Dara today.”

“Yeah?” Jiyong went, pressing impossibly closer, giving Seungri the reassurance he needed.

Seungri hummed. “She’s really pretty and nice, even at first glance. I understand why a lot of people ship her with you.”

Needless to say that Seungri was Jiyong’s biggest fan. He followed every tag on Twitter and Instagram. He kept tabs on his Naver and Weibo. He was subscribed to YG’s YouTube channel. He promoted without being too suspicious; he came out as just another enthusiastic fan – another VIP. He was proud, endlessly happy that GDYB were fan favourites and were able to hold a large audience at a short amount of time.

What he hated, though, was how his fiancé was being shipped with another celebrity.

He could take all the other girls and guys claiming G-Dragon to be theirs. Seungri was fine with that. In the bottom of his heart, he was sure that Jiyong would always be his, that compared to other _fans_ , he was above, because he was the fan even before the idol.

He was Kwon Jiyong’s biggest fan, no matter whatever else alias the idol would take.

But somehow, when it was another celebrity Jiyong got paired with, it made him feel horrible. He felt inadequate, insecure, and infinitely not enough.

It all started with 2NE1’s debut. People clamoured for the new YG female group, excited for the next YG sensation after the blinding success of GDYB. They were a hit, not as big as GDYB, but nevertheless a success. Then G-Dragon released a single featuring Dara. _Hello_ , cute and catchy, the public fell in love. With that came commercials, joint promotions, and the both of them simply soared into higher popularity as a pair.

It didn’t help that they came out as a playful couple in _GDYB TV_.

It annoyed Seungri. It grated on his nerves how even he could not deny their chemistry.

He hated that Jiyong looked like he was having so much fun with her. He hated that he couldn’t hate Dara for it, because it was never her fault in the first place that the fans shipped them. He hated the fact that Youngbae himself had a small crush on the girl because that meant that she was genuinely girlfriend-material.

Seungri hated that she knew about Jiyong’s physical quirks only Seungri should have known, even Seungri hadn’t known. And he hated how all Jiyong’s days that weren’t with Seungri, were spent working, in his studio, probably with her.

He hated that she was perfect; Seungri hated that Dara was perfect for Jiyong in every way he couldn’t.

For all of Jiyong’s possessiveness, Seungri was _jealous_.

He cried about it at times during the lonelier nights. He never did tell.

Then Jiyong stubbed the nicotine stick on the ash tray – and he must have stayed in the roof deck a lot to leave an ash tray there – and cupped Seungri’s chin. Gently, he brought their lips together and though Seungri hated the taste of smoke in his mouth, he couldn’t help but reciprocate. Jiyong would always taste so good to him, feel like a breath of fresh air no matter how suffocating.

As time passed, Seungri couldn’t help but notice how better Jiyong got at kissing, how his tongue could expertly pass through the barriers of his lips at the right time, how his teeth would nip so perfectly that it had Seungri mewling and purring. Seungri tried his best, he did, but Jiyong was downright hypnotic this close and intimate. It’s been more than four years, they were promised to be married, they’d seen and felt each other in the most intimate of ways, but Jiyong still had the ability to make him putty with a single swipe of his tongue.

It was very unfair.

Delicious, but unfair.

“You know that I love you, right?” Jiyong whispered, voice low and somewhat desperate for something Seungri couldn’t place.

Seungri could only dazedly hum.

“You’re the only one I’d spend my life with?”

“Yes,” breathed the younger, a little more eloquent despite the low buzz in his head.

 

“Then tell me you love me.”

“I love you.”

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

A pause. “I love you.”

It was no question. “I love you more.”

 

 

 

 

 

“I think he’s a close friend of Jiyong-hyung or something,” Seungri heard, just as he was about to unlock the bathroom stall. Jiyong had invited him back, but he needed to make a quick trip to the comfort room so he promised he would follow. But then some guys made an entrance and he’d heard Jiyong’s name.

There were two other voices. “I don’t know, man,” one of them said. He could hear them fiddling with their pants and take care of their business all the while. “Seemed more like some random fan to me.”

The third snickered. “He was so clingy and hyung had this uncomfortable look on his face. Guy just couldn’t take a hint.”

“He must know that hyung doesn’t swing that way, right?”

“Hyung might swing that way, though.” There were laughs.

“I doubt it.”

“Doesn’t hyung have a thing with Chaerin-noona?”

“Or Dara-noona?”

“Who would deny Jiyong-hyung anyway? He probably has a thing with a lot of people.”

“Didn’t he used to wear a ring on his left hand?”

“Well, he doesn’t anymore so maybe he did have something stable but not anymore.”

Faucets were turned. Water flowed. “But that guy, though. What was his name? Seungri? Like _Victory_? He must have been a kiss-up. He wasn’t even that talented. Kept pitching in all the wrong places. Jiyong-hyung seemed like he wanted to rip him a new one.”

Laughs. “I know. And he just _went_ with Youngbae-hyung! Must be a real hard groupie.”

“I feel sorry for him. He’s just wasting his time.”

A scoff. “You should feel sorry for the hyungs. They just wasted their time with him. Their time costs more, definitely.”

A door opening. Laughs. “God, he must be so pathetic.”

A door slammed shut.

Seungri’s knees gave. He hadn’t known he was holding his breath, nor that his tears were streaming continuously down his face. His feelings were all over the place. As were his thoughts. As were the beats of his heart. He didn’t think he’d hurt this much, how his insecurity would swallow him whole or wreck him until he felt like he was pulverized into nothing.

It ate at him, because they were nothing but affirmations of all his fears. They were confirmations that he wasn’t the only one who thought he wasn’t enough.

He wasn’t insecure. He wasn’t belittling himself. He... just was. It was the truth, the fact of the situation.

He wasn’t enough.

There was something wrong with him.

He didn’t belong with Jiyong.

_Who was he kidding?_

_He didn’t belong._

He ran out.

He went home.

He didn’t look back.

 

 

 

Where are you? What’s taking you so long?

Received: 5:18 PM

 

 

You weren’t in the bathroom. Did you get lost?

Received: 5:32 PM

 

 

I can’t find you. Where are you? Why aren’t you answering my calls?

Received: 6:03 PM

 

 

Seungri, please.

Received: 6:16 PM

 

 

Babe

Received: 6:45 PM

 

 

Please. Tell me where you are.

Received: 7:01 PM

 

 

 

What do you mean you went home? Answer your phone.

Received: 7:14 PM

 

 

But you were okay before you went to the bathroom. Did something happen?

Received: 7:17 PM

 

 

Still. You should have told me you weren’t feeling well. I would have taken you home and you shouldn’t have gone alone. I don’t know why you’re refusing to talk to me but don’t do this again. Do you have any idea how worried you made me? I looked everywhere for you. I wasn’t able to get anything else done. Even Youngbae was worried. Tell me next time. Don’t do this again.

Received: 7:22 PM

 

 

Fine. I’ll call you tomorrow. Drink a lot of water and sleep early.

Received: 7:24 PM

 

 

Okay. Rest for now. I love you.

Received: 7:26 PM

 

 

 

 

God, you’ll be the death of me. I love you. Please, feel better. I love you.

Received: 11:56 PM


	22. Chapter 22

Kang Daesung tilted his head to the left. Then he tilted his head to the right. Then he wondered why people did this when they failed to understand something when it didn’t help at all. Not even a little bit.

“How the fuck,” he began in an astonished bafflement, “did you make this taste so good?”

Seungri blushed under his boss’ compliment. Of course, Daesung was more than just his boss. The man was a friend, their relationship growing over the year Seungri had to come to work in the wee hours of the morning so he could bake and that was the time Daesung was at the café most.

Seungri had come as he’d always had, but the baking had become routine for him that the job was easy. So he decided to bake a quick breakfast treat for himself and his boss. Daesung had let him do that with the café ingredients. It was sometimes a means for them to test out new products for their viability to sell and it kept Daesung fed.

The man took another bite from the Breakfast pastry in front of him. Daesung sighed. A negotiation passed on his face until they settled, as if he’d come into a decision. “Hey, Seunghyun.” Seungri looked up. “You know how to speak Japanese, right?

“Only from my elective course last semester,” Seungri hummed. At least his curriculum allowed for electives.

Daesung sniffed. “ _If the Summer flowers could bloom in Winter, then they’d cease being of the Summer and be for ever,”_ he said in Japanese.

Seungri blinked in confusion.

“Translate it for me.”

Seungri did so perfectly and Daesung smiled.

Seungri laughed. “Okay, weird. Did someone tell you that?”

“No,” Daesung kept on. He took a sip from his morning tea as Seungri did the same. “I made it up.”

“Okay?”

“And you translated it to the tee.”

“Okay? Still not getting where you’re coming from, boss.”

Daesung laughed. “You seem to be fluent enough in Japanese,” was what he said. He polished his plate, pushed it away and dragged his cup closer. “Good enough to get by, I suppose. What grade did you get on your Japanese class?”

“I got a one point two five,” Seungri admitted bashfully.

Daesung whistled. That was equivalent to a line of nine or higher eights, if he wasn’t mistaken.

“I learned from watching too much anime,” Seungri went on, feeling like he needed to explain himself in the predicament.

Daesung smiled at him kindly. “Listen, Seunghyun,” he said. “I have this business partner who has the opportunity to open a restaurant in Japan. Problem is, she really wants another friend of mine to be head chef. She wants him and him alone.”

Seungri’s heart thumped. He remained silent, rooted on his seat like ice stuck to the freezer.

“This guy, though,” Daesung went on, sounding like all the energy was zapped out of him in his frustration. “He doesn’t even know a lick of Japanese. And even when he has the attention span to learn a few phrases, he’s childish enough to be picky with the people he works with.”

Suddenly, the pastry in front of Seungri didn’t look too appetizing anymore. His stomach was filled anticipation, the curious kind, the one that filled him with both want and trepidation.

“I think you could be right for it,” Daesung finished, raising more questions for Seungri’s quietly excited mind.

“Right for what, exactly?” he had to ask.

Daesung’s answer was both straightforward and shocking.  “His sous chef.”

Seungri’s mind reeled. But before he could say anything – not that he could – Daesung raised his hand.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, even if Seungri didn’t know if he thought of anything all. “It’s a big job. It is. But it’s also a great opportunity. And I know you’d do great. I’m certain of it.”

“But it’s in Japan,” Seungri croaked. “I’d have to move to Japan?”

“Y-yeah. The pay would be plenty to support you and then some.”

“I’d have to be alone.”

“Dude, judging by your stories, you’ve practically lived alone since middle school. And I’d be there with you.”

“But I have school and basketball.”

“Seungri, this could be the opportunity to your future. This is your career I’m talking about here. This isn’t just some flimsy whim you made on a drunken night out. We’re talking about real investments here. _I’m_ willing to invest in you.”

“Hyung–”

“Before you say anything else, the head chef you’ll be working with would be Choi Seunghyun. He’s nine years older than you, but he acts like he’s twelve. He’s an indubitable genius in the kitchen though, so please consider.”

Seungri startled. Did Daesung just say, “Choi Seunghyun? As in the Head Chef of Doom Dada’s?”

“Exactly the one,” Daesung said, amazed that Seungri knew him. Then again, Seunghyun was famous for appearing in a few television shows.

“I love the pizza there!”

“Which one?”

“The one with anchovy and sardines!”

Daesung blanched. Seunghyun was proud of that, even if Daesung was disgusted by the idea itself. Although, he should be glad. “I knew you’d get along,” he murmured.

Seungri cleared his throat.

“I,” he gulped, the honesty building in his chest. “It sounds real good, hyung. I swear. But it’s… such a big step.”

Daesung nodded. “It’s an opportunity.”

And Seungri knew he was right.

“May I think about it?” Seungri smiled, his mind all jumbled but the excitement was palpable.

Daesung nodded. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

 

 

 

Thing was, Seungri got his job in the first place because Daesung’s father was a really close friend of his step-dad. He had no doubt that he’d be allowed to head over to Japan with Daesung, especially since he knew his parents were awed at Daesung’s success. 

He knew they’d be ecstatic about the idea. They were business-minded people who were parenting a son who has proven in more than enough situations that he could handle himself. Consider further that it wasn’t just some random field. No, Seungri was offered to train under and work with a renowned chef.

Seungri was happy. He couldn’t be more flattered at the opportunity.

Even if it was in Japan.

And he had to tell Jiyong.

 

 

 

 

 

Seungri has never been in Kibum’s dorm room before. It didn’t look that much different from Mino’s – being a student dorm and all with the two bunk beds, one bathroom, two closet spaces, and one table crammed into a small space. He’d learned that there was even a pull out bed underneath the bunk beds and thank heavens the school changed policy and only limited the students per dorm to four.

Seungri has never been to Kibum’s dorm before, but he’s hung out with the guy enough to know his roommates. There was Jonghyun, a Communications Arts major who liked to quote authors and philosophers including himself. There was Taemin, a Dance major, who liked to use and steal a lot of Key’s stuff, like his shampoo and the cap with teeth Key got from an aunt in London. Then there was Jinki, a Theatre major, who he rarely saw because he was, apparently, always asleep.

If Seungri were honest, he was closer to Mino’s roommates, mainly because they were as invasive of Seungri’s space as Mino was. They’d clung to him and pursued his friendship like Mino did his molten lava cakes. They even had a group name, like some idol group, and were popular among the students, not only because they were studying the sciences while involving themselves in impressive extra curricular activities, but because they were all unfairly tall and good looking.

Seungyoon and Seunghoon and Jinwoo and Mino. They called themselves the A Team, just because they’re in room A of building T and who wouldn’t scoff at that?

Seungri shook his head. His mind was wandering again. He was waiting too long for Kibum and he blanked out for a bit.

It was embarrassing.

"You’re going to have to wait for a while more," Jonghyun told him from the bed across. Jinki was snoring softly from the bed above. “Key’s not getting out of there in under an hour.”

Just then, out the bathroom came Kim Kibum, smelling like flowers and strawberries. “Shut up, Jjong,” he said, wiping the rest of the water off his skin. “Are you coming with us to the party or not?”

“Alas,” Jonghyun sighed dramatically. “I have this friend who’s doing a poetry reading tonight and she needs all the support she could get. It’s supposed to be very self-baring about vaginas, menstruation, and feminism so both of you should really come to that instead.”

Key shuddered as he dressed. He squeezed into tight sequined pink neon pink pants and a slinky top. “Hell no,” he spat, declaring his dislike for the female reproductive organ. “There’s a reason why I like dicks, moron. And I’m not sitting through some dialogue about it bleeding monthly even if it’s in poetry form.”

“It’s just a representation, Bummie,” Jonghyun laughed affectionately, and Seungri got why Minho was a little bit wary of the dude around Kibum.

The Digital Arts major raised a delicate eyebrow. “Well, then I’m going to represent all the goodness the gay community can offer at The PomPoms.”

Seungri laughed from his spot at Key’s bed. Jonghyun rolled his eyes. He finished packing his things and stood. “How about you?” he asked, directing the question at Seungri. “You should want to learn about _Feminism_ , right?”

Seungri gulped.

_Because you’re a girl,_ Jonghyun might have meant.

And somehow, that unsettled Seungri.

Kibum kicked at his roommate. “You ain’t takin’ my party buddy away from me, boy,” he sneered. “Find your own pretty boy.”

Seungri blushed. Jonghyun raised an eyebrow. “Bummie, I’m my own pretty boy.”

Kibum snorted. None of them could argue with that. Everyone in that room was a pretty boy.

“Then, I’m going,” Jonghyun waved finally. “See you later.”

“Take care.”

“Bye Jonghyun.”

“Don’t let him push you around, Riri,” the writer called, shutting the dorm door behind him as he left.

Seungri huffed and sat back on Kibum’s bed while the other turned to the mirror to apply on make-up, not that he needed it. Key’s skin glowed naturally.

Seungri watched. Longing shot through his stomach like a light throbbing pain, not sharp enough to be alarming, but constant enough to remain noticeable. It was dull and drummed in his head as an insatiable want.

And it’s been there for as long as he could remember.

He’d always wondered what he’d look like if he grew his hair out or painted his lips red. He wanted to know of he really was pretty in a skirt, if he would be prettier in a dress.

But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring that type of attention to himself. It brought him nothing but trouble, horrible trouble, and it was wrong.

It was one thing to like another boy.

It was another to think he was a _girl_ and have nothing to show for it but a penis.

It was all so damningly confusing.

It wasn’t just his heart. Even his mind, when he closed his eyes and listened carefully, he was yelling from inside. Screaming, crying desperately to at least be heard.

_I am a woman_.

_Will you listen? Please listen._

_I am a woman._

And Seungri would shake himself, grab onto every male bit of him, and stare for hours naked into the mirror until the voices would quiet and retreat back to the dark recesses of his mind where they belong.

_He couldn’t call himself a_ her _even if Key does so always._

But every time he saw Key, every day he was exposed to the sort of self-freedom he gave himself, he wanted. He _longed_.

“Do you want me to do you?” he was asked.

Seungri snapped out of it and saw Key staring at him. He had a brush raised in his hand and a kind smile on his lips.

Seungri slipped. He had let his _longing_ show.

The younger shook his head. Even if he’s worn make-up before, there always was an occasion, situations when males were allowed to wear make-up.

And parties weren’t one of those occasions, were they?

But Key had put on some, so maybe it was okay?

He didn’t know. Seungri didn’t know. He wanted to but he didn’t.

He didn’t know.

“You want to, don’t you?” Key winked, saving Seungri further from drowning in his own questions.

The answer to that was easy.

“K-kinda,” he was shy to admit, even if various parts of him kept yelling a jumble of yes and no’s. But this was Key. He could trust Key. Key was a friend.

He was sure, this time.

The other male laughed, adorably that made his face crinkle in amusement. “You don’t have to look too abhorred by it,” he quipped. “It’s just make-up. Even your boyfriend does it all the time.”

“Jiyong needs it for his work,” Seungri shyly excused. He curled upon himself on Key’s mattress. He played with the hem of his pants. “I don’t.”

Key hummed and faced him fully. “Of course you don’t. You’re pretty enough as it is,” and Seungri still wasn’t used to the compliment if it didn’t come from Jiyong. “But it’s a party. It wouldn’t hurt to enhance your assets.”

Seungri bit his lip. But before he could spew on some other excuse, Key was on him, already wiping off the excess oil from his face with a tiny scented piece of lavender paper.

Seungri laughed. This was so typical of Kibum. “No,” he squealed, giving a playful fight because even if he wasn’t as weak to this person as Minho was, he was still pretty much so. “I’m trying to protect my virtue by going to the party with a bare face!”

“Virtue, my ass!” Kibum spluttered. “You’ve probably done dirtier things, Mr. Engaged-to-an-Idol.”

“I doubt it,” Seungri shot back. “You and Minho are so loud, I can hear you from my room!”

Kibum slapped his hand on Seungri’s mouth, shutting him up effectively and reducing his laugh into giggles. God, Seungri would never let them live that down.

“You promised never to speak of the pantyhose incident again,” Key hissed.

“I didn’t,” Seungri said.

Key couldn’t say anything else.

That derailed quickly; he didn’t know how it happened. And he was more than happy to get them back on track.

“Anyway, hold still,” Key began again, taking a more serious note even if his cheeks were blazing red. “This won’t take long.”

Seungri knew nothing about make-up. He didn’t have the heart to torture himself in knowing _how_ when he didn’t have the stomach to do it on himself. Somehow, having someone else do it for him quieted his protests. He had an excuse.

He could blame it all on Kibum.

He smiled. He started getting excited as Key explained it all to him. He blushed when he got complimented on how good his skin looked, how he must have slept well and drank a lot of water. Key told him that _this_ would make his eyes look sharper and _that_ would make his lashes longer.

And Key kept to his promise: they were done under ten minutes in Key’s expert hands.

“Look,” Key said after, beaming as he faced him to the mirror. “Am I good, or am I good?”

Seungri gasped. He expected himself to hate it. He expected his stomach to churn in dislike. He didn’t expect himself to like it as much as he did.

It wasn’t like how his mother did it – too subtle to be noticeable, filled with neutrals and skin-tones because Seungri had requested it. No, Key had gone for smoky greys and soft reds. His lips were a glistening pink and there was which white underlined his eyes attractively. It wasn’t much, but it still looked foreign on his face.

Unexpectedly pleasurably so.

Seungri would have cried if he didn’t know that Key would kill him if he did for ruining his work.

 

 

 

 

 

Lee Jinki liked to sleep. It was one of his two main pleasures in life (the other was food, especially chicken). He was the king of it. So there was usually nothing that could keep him from it.

Not even the rowdiest roommates ever.

Jonghyun was by far the best of them. He kept to himself and liked to play soothing music with pretty vocals as he wrote. Taemin, on the other hand, had absolutely no respect. He did what he liked and took what he liked and woke Jinki up for the most trivial of things just because he liked, which Jinki did not pay much mind to because he was soft.

Then there was Kibum, who had the best of all intentions and never once meant to wake Jinki up because he was considerate like that. But only to that extent. More often than not, Key would wake him up with his boisterous laughter, or incessant nagging, or enthusiastic chatter.

And Jinki was so goddamn soft to this boy – to all of them, including Minho, the one who appropriately nicknamed him Onew – that there was nothing he could really do.

So he got used to Key’s voice waking him up accidentally and learned to simply lull back to sleep when it happened.

Unfortunately, there was another screaming with him.

“Key, it it’s too tight!” the other one screamed. “It won’t fit!”

And the double bed rocked violently – and holy shit Jinki didn’t even want to jump to conclusions but he did.

“Only in the beginning, hun,” Key said soothingly, breathlessly.

“Please, stop,” Jinki heard the other sob. “No more, please.”

Jinki has seen Key enough with guys to know that he was able to top. Jinki has seen him with Minho enough to know that the basketball player was definitely under their resident Diva.

But Jinki also knew Key would never engage in unconsented sex or make someone sexually uncomfortable. Or cheat on Minho.

Lord, please let Jinki be wrong.

So he peered over the edge of his bed, eyes still a little bit strained from having freshly woken up.

There, directly under him, Kibum had both his hands gripping the hem of a shirtless guy’s pants.

“God dang it, Kim Kibum! Don’t you have anything else? This is killing me, I swear. I can’t breathe. I never wanted this!”

“Oh baby, you _need_ this. And no, you’ll fit into these pants whether you want to or not–”

“I don’t want to!”

“Whether you want to or not.”

“Oh my god! Oh my god, please just kill me–”

“Don’t be a drama queen. We’re almost there; stop breathing!”

“I haven’t been able to for the past fifteen minutes!”

Jinki breathed.

Everything was normal, then.

It was only Seungri. He liked Seungri. He cooked delicious food.

And Seungri would never betray his best friend.

Lee Jinki went back to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

Jiyong decided that he liked Key.

Jiyong decided that he liked Key out of all of Seungri’s friends because Key was the one he needed to be least worried about.

He scrolled through the pictures Minho’s boyfriend sent him.

There were close-ups, full, and half-body shots of Seungri, skin shining with artificial glitter and face glowing in attractive paint. He was wearing a white frayed denim jacket over a simple loose black shirt. Key had also half the mind to squeeze Seungri into the tightest pair of jeans which emphasized his _assets_ so very well.

There were over fifty pictures of Seungri in various poses and expressions, both candid and not, some of them obviously Key’s idea.

Jiyong had material that could last him for six months.

Yes, among Seungri’s friends, Key was definitely the best.

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

Fuck.

Fuck, Seungri’s head felt like it had been cracked open with a sledge hammer, then ran over by a bus carrying an unimaginably gargantuan turtle with four elephants on its back, topped with a flat disk-like continent. His mouth felt so dry Angelina Jolie was probably going to adopt a kid there soon. His ears rang so much traffic would most likely let him pass right through. His eyes saw light so bright he thought he was in heaven.

God, how he wished he was in heaven. The hangover was hell.

He would never – _never_ – go out partying with Key again if his life depended on it. (They went out again the following month. They were university students away from their parents who liked to have fun. It was only expected.)

Suddenly, by some holy miracle, the light dimmed and he realized just how loud he was groaning in pain when he heard the muffled sound of his curtain being pulled shut. A hand was placed later on his back, soothing him with its motions as it went up and down in a comforting caress.

“Would you rather have hangover soup or something greasy?” a voice asked, and Seungri must be dreaming or Minho had his Jiyong impression down to tee.

He buried his head on the pillow. But food sounded real good right then. “Bacon,” he tried to say, but it all came out as a hiss and a whine and a whimper rolled into one pathetic moan.

“All right,” he said, seeming to know quite enough to understand. If there was one thing Seungri trusted Minho with, it was hangover cures. Mr. I-Don’t-Like-Losing-To-Alcohol liked to rub that into their faces. “Drink the water on the night stand. Come out when you want to eat.”

The weight on Seungri’s bed lifted and a door closed quietly. Seungri was much too weak to do anything else, so he went back to sleep, dry throat be damned.

Even if that voice sounded too much like someone it shouldn’t.

 

 

 

 

 

Minho shook him awake and Seungri doesn’t know how much time has passed but it must not have been much because Minho’s annoying mug had his eyes swimming.

“What do you want, asshole?” Seungri groaned, pushing the taller male with as much strength as he could. He wanted to burrow back in the comforts of his sheets where it was quiet and warm, and where his head wasn’t trying to kill him.

“Yah!” Minho yelled, and how could Seungri forget that while _friends_ would always be there for you, _best_ friends would go to the ends of the world with you and be annoying all throughout the journey. Case in point, Minho didn’t care if his deep voice got Seungri’s ears ringing. Nor did he care that Seungri’s brain felt like exploding when he hauled him to his feet. “Outside. Now.”

Seungri struggled futilely. “What the hell are you doing?” he spluttered. “Let go, Ho!”

Minho grunted under Seungri’s weight, despite the shorter barely being able to get his feet under him. He dragged him to their kitchen where the smell of greasy bacon and eggs conquered the air. “All right,” Seungri heard his best friend growl. “I want an exchange.”

Seungri’s sight was still shifty. His legs wouldn’t do as instructed. So when he heard Jiyong speak, he hadn’t quite known what to feel.

“What?” came Jiyong’s answer in a teasing tone. “Taste of your own medicine too bitter?”

Then Seungri found himself thrown, tossed carelessly to his boyfriend’s direction, which he couldn’t fight. He literally, physically, wasn’t able to at the moment. He was too stunned, too hungover to do much.

Fortunately, Jiyong caught him. Jiyong, his boyfriend, who wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near there because Jiyong _never had the time_ , was there to catch him.

Like, woah. Hold up.

That was way more sobering than an ice bath in the Arctic.

It’s been a while since they’ve seen each other. And if he’s going to be honest, he hasn’t been the best of lovers.

He’s been… _avoiding_.

“Hello,” Jiyong greeted him, all soft and nice like the proper partner he was. “Have you slept well?”

Suddenly, Seungri was too aware of his dishevelled hair, of his sleep-riddled eyes and the drool dried on the side of his lips. He was wearing the rattiest clothes he had and he most likely smelled like sleep and sweat and stale alcohol and oh god Jiyong was too close to not have already noticed. 

But, still, Jiyong smiled. Sweetly, lovely, so much of what Seungri _didn’t_ deserve.

His voice caught in his throat – and how is that possible when he’s been in a relationship with this man for almost five years?

Seungri blushed instead, a deep shade of red that always brought out the light brown of his eyes, framed by pretty lashes. He kept his mouth shut, feeling the germs inside of his mouth readying to assault Jiyong’s senses.

In a surge of desperate humiliation, he pushed Jiyong away, stumbling hastily to the bathroom.

Fuck.

_Fuck_.

 

 

 

 

Kibum was draped all over Jiyong. The diva was all up on the pop idol’s business, fawning over his dance muscles, clears face, and series of V’s and I’s tattooed on his shoulder. Seungri was fine with it, he was confident in Jiyong’s loyalty and Kibum thought too highly of himself to ever stoop so low as to steal his boyfriend’s best friend’s _fiancé_. And, okay, he was as loyal to Riri as he was to Minho, even if he was too much of a _tsuntsun_ to admit it.

Seungri had let it happen because Kibum needed to get the fanboy out of his system. He has never seen Jiyong in person before, their friendship starting out much like Youngbae and Seungri’s. But Kibum’s admiration for Jiyong was immense. His artistry was great, and his attitude toward Seungri was honestly too good for someone as popular as him.

Seungri was pretty, in that _I’m rich and have the means to have my hair removed by other people every three weeks_ sort of way. But he wasn’t pop-star pretty, the way the people around Jiyong need to be.

So Kibum couldn’t help but feel amazed – never jealous, because Minho was bigger than the dream he had imagined –at how much Jiyong loved Seungri.

Seungri knew this; Key has told him as much over and over and over again.

Which led him to his next point:

Key was crazy over Jiyong because he was bisexual and a _win_ for the LGBTQ+ community. He’d never wish for Jiyong’s career to come into a halt because the Korean community in general still perceived it to be _wrong_ to be non-binary, but when that time did come, Key would be on the front lines, defending his rights and his friends.

Seungri understood Kibum. Seungri appreciated Kibum.

In infinitely more ways than one.

 

 

 

 

 

The wash had been refreshing, and the meal Jiyong prepared made him feel a little less like death.

Still, guilt clenched at his heart with barbed wire.

He didn’t want to see Jiyong. He wasn’t ready to talk to Jiyong. That was the whole point of _running away, staying away_.

Seungri blinked at him from the lip of the room.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. He didn’t mean to sound… _harsh_. It was just that Jiyong wasn’t _supposed to be there_.

Then the air changed into something more stifling. Funny, they haven’t really fought.

“Why?” Jiyong said carefully, and Seungri has rarely seen the intense glare of Jiyong’s eyes outside his G-Dragon persona, and it made him shiver. Jiyong looked… _angry_ , like he was trying to hold it down but barely could. “Am I not allowed to see my _boyfriend_?”

He said it like a challenge, as if he was tempting Seungri to deny it.

Seungri couldn’t. He couldn’t say anything at all.

There, in the privacy of his room, Jiyong has changed. His head was hung low, elbows resting on his knees as he sat on the bed. It was awkward. Ever since Jiyong came, Seungri was nothing but awkward. He didn’t say anything when he saw him. He didn’t turn to him even as they talked, if he could call that talking at all. He leaned away from his kiss. He took his hand back when he reached for it.

It was wrong.

He was wrong.

And somehow he could not get that thought out of his head.

Seungri bristled. Perhaps, he had gone too far, even if he felt like he wasn’t far enough. He wanted to run.

Jiyong wasn’t supposed to be there.

Jiyong wasn’t supposed to be there _with him_.

“I’m just asking,” Seungri remarked, obviously defensive. “You don’t have to be so hostile about it.”

The look Jiyong gave him was sharp. “I wouldn’t be so hostile if you welcomed me properly.”

“I don’t have a red carpet, Jiyong,” Seungri spat exasperatedly.

“I didn’t ask for a red carpet, Seunghyun.”

And Jiyong must really have been serious to call him by his real name.

Seungri sighed. He very much wanted to leave, seeing as Jiyong was adamant to stay.

“What do you want?” the younger asked, hands on his hips and head throbbing back with pain.

Jiyong ran his hand through his hair. It was pink then, and Seungri couldn’t remember the last time it was its natural color. “An explanation?” but it wasn’t a question. “For you to tell me that you were just kidding last night.”

_Last night?_

Seungri thought.

_But nothing happened last night._

Kibum and he just drank, went to a party and then –

 

 

 

_Oh._

_Oh, shit._

Seungri broke up with him.

In the worst way possible.

 

 

With a drunken phone call.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was supposed to be a fun night out. Key was, mildly put, a thrill to party with. But then Tiffany Rue was there, and it wasn’t like he could have fully escaped her when she was in Key’s circle of “non-binary” friends.

And Seungri hated her. He truly did. But he didn’t know her, and he treated her with the regard of a person who tried not to hate another for the purpose of trying to appear friendly and avoid a bad case of premature judgement.

Even if he downright wanted to strangle her at times, especially when she acted entitled toward Seungri’s _handsomer_ friends.

_Please,_ she had remarked, while Key was up to get their drinks and Seungri was surrounded by her friends, _you’re a fake. Going around and calling yourself trans when you don’t even like girly things._

_You play basketball_ , she said.

_You don’t wear skirts_ , she said.

_Or heels or make-up or shit like that,_ she said.

_Heck, you move like a guy, like every single one of the other basketball dumbbells. Don’t come prancing in here acting like you belong and sullying the LGBTQ+ cause. You’re disgusting. You don’t belong here._

_You’re disgusting._

_You don’t belong._

And those words hit him so hard he fled, to the bar where the alcohol kept flowing and he could drown his insecurities in liquid courage. It hurt. It was an understatement, but it hurt. Because it was the truth. It wasn’t all in his head. Other people could see it too, that he was fucked up. He was disgusting. He didn’t belong.

He wasn’t supposed to think that he was a girl. He was wrong. He was imperfect. He was broken. He wasn’t a girl; he wasn’t _like a girl_. He loved playing basketball. It was such a manly sport but it would remain his first love, way before cooking was. He even loved it before he loved Jiyong.

He didn’t wear skirts. He didn’t wear make-up. He thought heels were painful and the only real jewellery he owned was his engagement ring.

Which he wanted to throw away.

He wanted to hurl it back to Jiyong because it didn’t belong on his hand.

Jiyong didn’t deserve to be with someone so disgusting. Especially since Seungri was so goddamn inadequate compared to the people around him.

Who was Seungri kidding? He didn’t belong.

He was disgusting.

And it became more apparent whenever he thought of his lover. How could he?

How could he think he could stay with someone so perfect when he was broken and imperfect and wrong?

So in his hopelessly gone and inebriated state, he dialled Jiyong’s number and broke up with him, spurred on by the bitter taste of the alcohol on his tongue and sloshing in his stomach, nothing compared to the bitterness in his heart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Seungri,” Jiyong demanded, and there was room for nothing more.

For what else could he say? To deny would be a lie and if he could only say with the help of alcohol what he had said, there was no way he was going to take it back.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered instead, guilt-ridden and pained.

“Why?” Jiyong looked at him hard. There were tears in his eyes now, red-rimmed, angered, unapologetic, and confused.

Seungri couldn’t answer, rooted on his spot. For what could he when he knew how that conversation would go without starting it:

_I’m broken and wrong and imperfect,_ he’d say.

_You’re not,_ he’d answer.

And they’d come to a stale mate because couldn’t stop the questions in his head, couldn’t stop thinking that he was, that Jiyong doesn’t understand because he couldn’t explain.

 

 

All the while, Jiyong waited, patiently as he could. But as the seconds ticked by, his anger continued to rise. It wasn’t fair. Seungri wasn’t being fair.

_He didn’t do anything wrong._

“Nothing?” he taunted, lips raised in a smirk so dangerous and vile. “You’re not going to say anything to me?”

Seungri remained silent.

Jiyong futilely tried to his tears away. He didn’t deserve this. But he couldn’t take it.

“Seungri!” he screamed, storming over to the younger and pushing him by the chest.

Seungri fell to the floor, outside his room, and Minho was there in an instant. Jiyong wasn’t surprised. The tension was there since Seungri saw him in the kitchen, and Jiyong has never felt so unwelcomed in his life.

Minho’s hand flew to the middle of his chest but it was slapped it away. This was none of his business. They needed to talk. The ball boy needed to butt out.

Jiyong kept his angered gaze on the love of his life. He felt so betrayed and cheated. How could he? What had he done to deserve a break-up so out of the blue, without any sort of pre-emption that Seungri wanted to be rid of him? Was he so useless?

No, he had not done anything wrong. He loved Seungri. He loved loving Seungri because it was supposed to be the most rewarding thing in the world.

But apparently, he was wrong. Because Seungri didn’t appreciate him enough to tell him _things_. He didn’t appreciate him enough to share his pain to the point of him breaking, to the point of him breaking them up.

Fuck, Jiyong was so angry.

“Nothing?!” Jiyong screamed again as Key kept his boyfriend away and Seungri remained silent on the floor. “So you’re not going to tell me why you’re doing this to me? Or… or if there’s anything I can do to keep you? Nothing?”

The answering silence was tense. And Jiyong’s sad laugh was harsh.

“Fuck,” Jiyong lamented, done with trying to stop his tears because they clearly wouldn’t. “Fuck, Seungri. How could I make things right if you don’t tell me what’s wrong? Tell me! You never tell me shit!

“But I know you. I didn’t do anything. And this isn’t about some third party shit because you’d never do that to me. Right? This is about _you_. Right?

“But you won’t tell me.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me?!

“I am right, aren’t I? Tell me!”

But Seungri remained stubbornly quiet, head down and unmoving. Jiyong felt hopeless, and he calmed.

Not inside, no. Inside was a heavy storm worsened infinitely by strong gusts of wind and hail. Outside, he calmed, tired, hopeless and resigned that there was nothing he could do.

Because it seemed like there was nothing Seungri would let him do.

“You know what?” Jiyong said finally, and finally, Seungri looked up. He appeared no better. “If you want to break-up, that’s fine. That’s what you need? Then have it. There’s nothing I can do until you talk to me, but since you don’t want to talk, there’s nothing I could do.”

Jiyong checked his pockets for his stuff. Only his phone was there and he had no idea where his wallet was, but suddenly he didn’t care. What was the point?

He strode to the door, empty

What was the point of anything at all, if Seungri...

Just by the door, before he took his leave, Jiyong said, just because he could never truly just let Seungri go:

“When you’re ready to talk, give me a call.”

And because he couldn’t deny how much his heart wanted to force Seungri into a corner and carve his name permanently onto the contours of his skin:

“I love you. I’ll be waiting.”

And he left.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was too much.

As soon as he heard the door shut, his emotions got the best of him. He couldn’t control his tears or his breathing. He was certain he couldn’t stand because he felt so weak. He wanted to curl up on the floor but his body hurt so much from the emotional pain it was physical, making him stay there, bawling his eyes out for minutes – hours, it felt like.

_Fuck, everything hurt too much_.

The pain was nothing he could have ever imagined. The moment he looked into Jiyong’s eyes, he knew he had made the biggest mistake of his life. It didn’t matter that he’d done it while drunk. He’s been avoiding the older since that day in his studio, he’s been thinking about breaking up with him for as long.

As if it had been so easy.

As if it had been something he could freely do.

He never thought – not even once – that he’d hurt Jiyong this much.

Fuck, he really was too selfish, only thinking about himself when Jiyong had done nothing but take care of him and treat him the best that he could, despite the lack of time, despite the overwhelming distance. Seungri was so blinded by his own fears and self-doubt.

He was so blinded by his own tears that wouldn’t stop falling because he has done the one thing he had never ever wanted to do.

He’d hurt the person he cared for the most, all the while under the impression that he was doing the right thing.

Shit, if this was right, then why did it hurt so much?

Then why did Jiyong look at him like he was the vilest person in the world? It wasn’t just disappointment. Severe sadness, uncontainable anger, and hopeless desperation oozed from the windows of Jiyong’s soul and dropped down in the form of hot tears and demanding words. Seungri was so lost.

He felt so empty, but at the same time, the emotions roared in his chest like little fire rockets seeking to destroy. Everything was a mess.

How could he?

_How could he?_

Seungri loved Jiyong too much, but that wasn’t enough. That couldn’t be enough.

But still... even so...

How could he just disregard everything Jiyong has done for him, just like that?

How could he throw away everything that they were and not even tell the single person he needed to tell the most?

How could he?

 

 

 

 

 

Hands cupped his wet cheeks. Seungri’s chest was heaving with overflowing sobs, but he was forced to look up by firm hands. In everything else that was blurred, he was able to see Kibum’s face, hurt and sad and betrayed.

“Don’t run away, Riri,” he said, like Seungri has told him once before. A pause. “You’re not saving him and you’re definitely not saving yourself. You’re running, and honestly it’s just hurting you both. Pointlessly. So you should just face him. And your feelings. It may be none of my business, but you are one of my closest friends, and I think you’ll be happy if you do.”

Seungri’s sight started clearing. Just like that. The hiccups started to come in to stop his horrible sobbing and he wondered if this was how Kibum felt way back then when he saved him from hurting himself. Perhaps, Seungri was the pull Kibum needed to stop running then.

Perhaps, Kibum was the push Seungri needed to start _running after Jiyong_.

“It’s not too late,” Kibum said, smiling gently like an angel. “You can still make things right.”

And for all of Seungri’s wrongs, for all of his feelings of inadequacy and incorrectness, if there was still a chance that he could do something else, something more, make something right, then he’d take it.

He felt Minho’s strong arms – Minho who was always there for him when he needed strength he thought he no longer had – haul him to his feet and help him to the door.

Rain was pouring outside, bleak and grey and damningly depressing. It was fitting.

Seungri ran.


	24. Chapter 24

In hindsight, taking off the way he did was probably one of the biggest mistakes he could have made as an idol.

If he’d been his normal cautious self, he’d have made sure to find his wallet and grab the jacket he left on Seungri’s kitchen. As it stood, he hardly found the inspiration to care. When the door shut behind him, he suddenly felt empty, devoid of any reason to care. Then again, he couldn’t deny the feeling of regret and sadness, anger and disappointment that filled his gut.

He found it hard to care about anything else, when he didn’t know exactly what he was feeling at all.

There was a cool narration in his head, rendering in explicit detail how each droplet symbolized the dread he felt, how every time the ground felt the hit of those little lukewarm bullets, his heart took a beating. Yet at the same time, it was soothing him to calm down, slow his pace and not flag that taxi coming down the road. It told him that he’d been too rash, that he should have given Seungri time because that was what his boy needed.

In hindsight, taking off the way he did was probably one of the biggest mistakes he could have made if he’d truly wanted to keep Seungri.

Then again, Jiyong thought, he gave Seungri enough times as it were.

He wasn’t too numb to Seungri’s excuses. He knew that his boy was avoiding him. Ever since that time in the recording studio a little more than a month ago, he was suspicious. Seungri’s been acting strange, and no matter how much the rapper prompted him to tell, Seungri wouldn’t. He trusted Seungri enough to tell him in time. He hadn’t expected that when he did, it was to break up.

Exposed and getting drenched in the rain, he was contemplating of whether or not to come back when he got noticed by a couple of college students. To be frank, he really was in no mood to be any sort of accommodating, and if they hadn’t been able to see that in his face, he was a better actor than he thought.

Or the rain did a damn well job of masking his tears.

The rain was soaking every inch of his skin but the two girls crowded him, asking him all sorts of questions from what he was doing there, why he was standing in the rain, and if he was going to get picked up by his manager – _and oh god, I love you so much_.

Jiyong wasn’t in the fucking mood.

He wanted to leave, to shout at them to let him be or else he’d have to ruin their image of him.

But that no longer mattered, did it? If Seungri didn’t care anymore, then how could it matter at all?

When he did all that he did, when the cause of it all was –

Suddenly, he was pulled by the arm and his head was forced down low, face hidden from the people’s view.

“I’m sorry,” the boy holding him said. The voice caught Jiyong by surprise. His heart almost stopped. No, that wasn’t quite right. His heart stopped when Seungri broke up with him. Rather, it started to weakly beat again. “G-Dragon-ssi can’t talk right now. He needs… he needs a little space. Please understand.”

Jiyong didn’t need space. Jiyong didn’t want space. Not from him, no.

Never him.

Fortunately, they did. Not all fans were inconsiderate lunatics. Some of them were true, people who respected that their idols were people too.

Jiyong was stunned. He wanted to look up, to confirm that it was Seungri – his Seunghyun – that chased after him. His arms ached to wrap themselves around the boy he was so hopelessly in love with, forget that anything ever happened even though only minutes has passed since then.

Because, surely, if Seungri cared enough to chase after him… then maybe…

He was pulled. A hand on the small of his back as he was led back to Seungri’s apartment, head tucked to avoid any more attention. Seungri’s hand was in his and all his fears and desperation, pain and sadness, froze in their tracks.

Because, surely…

If Seungri…

Surely–

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jiyong’s heart stopped. Seungri was drunk. Surely he couldn’t mean –

“Baby?” he tried again, breathy and frail and so goddamn afraid.

“ _I really can’t, Jiyong_ ,” his boyfriend sobbed out the slur. He could hear Seungri’s tongue curling in on itself, and Jiyong didn’t know how to feel about that. _“I can’t do this anymore.”_

“What do you mean you–”

_“I’m breaking up with you. Listen, please, it’s already so hard to say once.”_

It was past three in the morning, so close to four when they were both supposed to be sleeping. Maybe if he’d slept and not toiled over another track like Seungri kept telling him to, he wouldn’t have had to deal with this. Maybe then, when he’d woken up, Seungri would have taken it back and not have steadily rejected his shot-gunned apologies and requests for explanations.

He didn’t even know what he was saying sorry for but if it could get Seungri to stop babbling on about breaking his heart into a trillion tiny pieces, then pride be damned.

Perhaps Seungri was too drunk to think of anything but wanting to break up with him, losing the _why_ ’s in his litany of _we’re not for each other_ ’s and _we can’t be together anymore_ ’s.

“Don’t say that,” Jiyong cried, yelling Bullshit in his head. “Don’t do this, Seungri-ah.”

His mind was swimming. All the lyrics he was supposed to write evaporated, these lyrics of love he’d been keeping to himself, honing them to perfection to fit who it was for, no matter how much it pales in comparison.

He remembered all the songs he wrote for Seungri. He related to them best, because he felt for them most. The fun upbeat songs were his mere on-the-surface feelings. The sad ones were deeper, ones he wrote while imagining how it would be if Seungri weren’t in his life. But he couldn’t write songs about how much he loved Seungri. No combination of words could ever fathom the fullness of his feelings.

The same went for the opposite. It was futile to even try to write on paper how unbalanced, off-kilter, and incomplete he was with the mere threat of Seungri leaving him.

He hasn’t cried yet, holding out for hope that Seungri was just too blindly drunk to think.

“ _No_!” Seungri almost-screamed. “ _You don’t understand_!”

“Then make me understand!” Jiyong yelled back desperately. He hated how Seungri repeatedly refused to take back what he said. He hated how Seungri wasn’t telling him anything at all. Nothing, except that he was leaving him. “Tell me, please. What did I do wrong?”

_“No, it’s… it’s…”_ then Seungri was reduced to pitiful sobs, cries that broke Jiyong’s heart more than he thought it could.

“Tell me where you are,” Jiyong said with urgency. “I’ll come and get you and we’ll talk. Please.”

Jiyong convinced himself that Seungri was just too drunk, that Seungri didn’t mean any of it. But if Seungri was crying, then this must have been something that hurt him a lot. And if it were hurting a lot, then it couldn’t have been a drunken spur-of-the-moment inclination.

Shit.

“Seungri?”

Jiyong’s tears had yet to fall, but his heart had definitely ceased.

When all he heard was the dead phone line, he pocketed his phone and his wallet and the jacket on the back of his chair. He ran down the building to the road to hail down a taxi. There was no way his manager was going to let him go. Jiyong wasn’t going to try. He wasn’t going to risk it, not when he didn’t have the time.

He wouldn’t be able to continue writing now, anyway. Without Seungri, he wouldn’t be able to write anything at all.

 

 

And none of it could explain the pain of betrayal burying itself in his chest.

 

 

 

 

 

Seungri messed up. He fucked up so royally, horribly, woefully bad, the rain did nothing but wash away his every inhibition and make him think clearer than he has in the past months. It was improbable – impossible, almost – how it came to him light-years faster than all his shortcomings, and it was less like a kick in the gut but more of a shove through the door by Minho’s muscled arms.

In just a single moment, he had somewhat cleared his senses, because even through tears, Jiyong always made him feel loved and needed by someone infinitely more important.

Jiyong was unresponsive as he got them back to his apartment. Which was quite all right, because when they got there, Seungri was lost as to what he wanted to do, what he needed to do. But he was sure of one thing: if he got YG’s precious idol sick, he could get his ass handed to him on a golden diamond-plated platter, and he did so loved his ass thank you very much.

So without thinking about it much, his hands grabbed onto the hem of Jiyong’s shirt and he pulled the soaking fabric upwards, the older’s defined arms slid through the cloth that squelched when it was thrown to the ground.

And just as suddenly he was pinned to the bathroom door, lips pressed fully into Jiyong’s and though he didn’t know if they could still be lovers, it was clear what Jiyong wanted.

“Oh,” he heard Kibum, who had opened the door for them with an expression as relieved as Seungri wanted to feel. Then he heard a shuffle of feet and a door slam shut and he knew he and Jiyong were alone.

Seungri kissed back, body moving on instinct and making it so hard to deny that he shouldn’t have listened to his brain in the first place. He was hurt and afraid of too many things that it clouded his reasoning. His body was telling him the opposite then, how there was only Jiyong and how he could want no one more. His body reacted so naturally – so instantly – that it was a no-brainer. Chances were his brain short-circuited, with Jiyong wet and all.

There was something so intoxicatingly heady with being wanted as much as Jiyong made him feel.

Jiyong’s hands trailed under his shirt, grabbed him by the hips with a vice grip. It hurt almost, the way Jiyong dug his nails onto Seungri’s skin, but the younger thought he deserved that. It felt too good to have Jiyong so close like that. He almost couldn’t remember why he wanted to break up with Jiyong in the first place.

And that thought derailed him. He had more pressing matters he needed to attend to, even if the body doing the same against his was making a very convincing argument.

Reluctantly, Seungri pushed him away, looking at Jiyong’s face since they got back. There was something manic in his eyes, a shine hopeful that flickered and threatened to dim.

Jiyong laced their fingers, his own trembling between Seungri’s. Desperately, he draped himself over the younger, dragging his lips on the crook of his neck.

“Don’t do this to me, Seungri-ah,” Jiyong plead, and it hit Seungri that Jiyong shouldn’t even be sorry in the first place because none of this was his fault. It was all Seungri’s. But the younger wasn’t so cruel to raise Jiyong’s hope only to pull the rug under him for a second time that forsaken day.

“I’m sorry,” Seungri said quickly. “It’s not that I don’t want you. I do. I swear, I love you. But you need to bathe quickly, before you get sick. Then, we’ll… we’ll talk. I promise. We have to talk.”

The idol star let out a stuttering breath. A disbelieving one. Seungri was aware. Even to himself, his words sounded like excuses and lies. “I promise,” Seungri tried to reassure him. “I’m just afraid that if I’ll lose my nerve I won’t be able to tell you anything at all.”

And they couldn’t have that, could they?

Jiyong’s arms dropped to his sides, a resignation, but not defeat. That seemed to sober him up, accepting and understanding as much as he could. He flicked at the edges of Seungri’s shirt.

“Take a bath, too,” he said, looking up and squeezing the fabric in his fist. Droplets of rain water burst on the ground in echoing drips. “Take it with me.”

Seungri couldn’t possibly have refused.

 

 

 

 

 

Jiyong watched him undress. Propped so coolly on the countertop in nothing but his dark grey briefs, he made Seungri feel inadequate. The lines of Jiyong’s body was toned, defined and designed to make girls swoon, to make photographers want to shoot him, to make brands want him to model for them. Kwon Jiyong was an asset in all his aspects and Seungri was finely aware of that fact.

Seungri turned around to slide his shorts and less-modelesque underwear down his thighs so he could quickly jump in the shower and pretend like none of this was making his skin color like a ripe tomato and warm like a he had the worst case of the flu. Suddenly, breath blew at his nape, causing him to squeal, blush harder, and turn so quickly, he lost his balance and found it against the wall. Jiyong smirked at him, sliding in uncomfortably close.

“A bit tense?” the older quipped, smirk turning into something sweeter, reeling Seungri into an obvious trap. He trailed a lone finger on the expanse of the younger’s stomach, making it convulse in anticipation. “You need to relax, baby.”

Seungri flinched. He felt so hot, so trapped. “Y-you’re not ex-exactly making it easy, Jiyong.”

“Hey now,” crooned the music artist. His voice dropped down a register and dripped of caramel honey. “You know I’d never do anything you wouldn’t like, right?”

Seungri squeaked, unintentionally. “You – stop being ri-ridiculous, J-j-ji–”

“Say my name properly, Seungri-ah,” he taunted with a laugh. “Want me to remind you how?”

“N-no–”

Jiyong hummed. “Tell me a better lie, babe. You know that’s not true.”

Seungri shivered. He knew. He’s been educated by Jiyong himself just how good the rapper could be to him. Made him scream his name a couple of times now. He wasn’t quite sure how he oh-so-conveniently forgot.

But, shit, it was exciting.

But, fuck, that wasn’t what they were supposed to do.

"Ji-Jiyong," he tried, breath shallow and stuttering. He hadn’t gotten far.

Jiyong slammed his hands on the wall by Seungri’s head, bracketing the younger in his arms and leaning in so close, careful to treasure the breaths-width between their lips.

"Stop rejecting me, Riri," Jiyong growled, his possessiveness arousing. "It’s getting fucking annoying and it makes me want to fuck some sense into you."

Seungri gulped. Jiyong never did get hurt crying when he knew he didn’t deserve it. He could remember Jiyong reacting to his haters with his middle fingers up and kissing Seungri in a new full leather jacket he bought just because he could, what with all the money he was bringing in.

Seungri had let him, just that once, because he knew how much his lover had been stressing out on the inside, much like how Seungri understood how frightened Jiyong must actually be. Jiyong fought fire with fire, which sometimes translated into misplaced passion.

And Seungri relaxed, albeit a little bit, because he finally began to also understand what Jiyong was subtly telling him.

“You don’t get to do this anymore,” Jiyong went on, in a voice that clearly said that even if Seungri didn’t, he was ready to force Seungri into getting it. “You don’t get to run away from me after this. This is the last time. There’s a reason why you chased me down, Seungri, and if that’s not indication enough for you, then tell me. I’ll make you understand.”

There were growls in Jiyong’s voice, tendrils of anger and frustration laced with a subtle desperation that Seungri fed off of. He loved this boy. He well and truly did. To be loved back was something he took for granted, unconsciously, drowning in his loss of identity and forgetting about the hands that were reaching to help him up.

Clearly, this wasn’t just about him. Seungri could be lost and confused as to who he was, as to who he was supposed to be. He may have been lost, but he wasn’t alone.

“I need you, Seungri,” Jiyong confessed, and speaking as if there was no better truth, “and you need me too.”

Seungri nodded. Throat suddenly dry from some profound thirst for more than the physical.

Jiyong slinked away, turning on the shower as he waited for Seungri to follow.

That’s right, Seungri decided. It never was a one-way street.

 

 

Jiyong needed him to function. Seungri needed him to live.

 

 

 

 

 

“You should really update your wardrobe,” Jiyong opined as he searched Seungri’s closet for something to wear. He settled for a university jacket and a pair of boxer shorts. He and Seungri had practically the same build; Seungri was small compared to his teammates. Well, he didn’t use to be. Even if he was noticeably short for a basketball player, he was thinner than a few months back. It hurt him that whatever Seungri was going through was so serious to cause him to lose weight. “Everything in here screams university jock.”

Seungri himself was waiting patiently. Perched on the bed with a pillow clutched loosely in his arms, he donned an old pair of basketball shorts from his high school career and a black wife-beater. “Because I am,” he reasoned, not having the heart to say that he didn’t think that he could pull anything else off. “Besides, the last time I let Kibum put me in anything, I could barely breathe.”

Jiyong didn’t miss the hitch in his exhale, the way he fiddled nervously with his thumbs. Jiyong stalked closer to the boy who held his heart, ran his fingers through the soft strands of the younger’s hair to make him look up.

His eyes were wet with anticipated fear. Jiyong frowned. Seungri should never be afraid to tell Jiyong anything.

He gave him a kiss on the middle of his forehead before taking his seat on the same bed, back comfortably against the pillows and the wall.

“Come here,” he beckoned Seungri over, arms opened and inviting. “Come closer, Seungri-ah.”

And the younger did, reaching for Jiyong’s outstretched hand and straddling him before sitting on his lap.

Jiyong urged him with nothing more than soothing caresses up and down his smoothed thighs. It took a while before Seungri found the courage – or the right words – to speak. Yet Jiyong was patient, as he always was (and always will be) when it came to Seungri.

“I just… I really don’t know how to explain it,” Seungri finally said after minutes had passed in silence, voice quiet and playing with the strings of Jiyong’s sweatshirt – or his sweatshirt – afraid to look Jiyong in the eye. “It’s… It’s me. Basically. Just me.”

Seungri’s breath hitched. “I don’t know who I am, what I’m supposed to be. Ji, there are voices in my head telling me to be someone my mind insists I’m not. I don’t know what to do, what to listen to, because the last time I listened to them, I got… I almost got–”

_Raped,_ he wanted to say, but the word and the memory choked him painfully.

“They’re screaming right now,” he hiccupped, failing to notice the tears that dared to drop from his lost eyes, too preoccupied in making sure that he told Jiyong everything this time. “Yelling at me, but I don’t want to listen. I shouldn’t listen. Because they’re wrong. They’re making me wrong and tainted and imperfect.

“Jiyong, I’m broken, and I couldn’t make me right with all these voices screaming in my head.”

Seungri was shaking from the fear of at last making it known to someone. His deepest secret revealed, and his body was rebelling, making it all so difficult. The lost boy had to pry it from himself, if only to grab the chance to make everything right.

“I’m so broken; I’m so wrong.”

“What do they say?” Jiyong urged, almost afraid to know.

“They say,” Seungri hesitated. “They say I’m a girl.”

 

 

 

 

There were secrets kept in the idol world – numerous, practically capable to drown in its flood. It was such a prolific business, anyone who’d do anything to get in would be those who got in. Most train for five years just to experience the idol fame for less. The luckier ones, like Jiyong, invested less while earning more.

It was because of his face, he knew. How such a pretty guy could rap so exceptionally.

But he held his secrets, those that he knew if got out would mean his ruin. Like being in a relationship with another guy.

Such was the burden of being an idol: you couldn’t be someone they didn’t want you to be.

So some of them suppressed themselves, fitting themselves into the image the public wanted them to be. Jiyong was no stranger to this. He was brave enough to not have gone that path, because he was sure a life without Seungri was not a life worth living.

No, Jiyong merely knew exactly what he wanted in life.

Some didn’t. Some were lost and suppressed themselves to keep their secrets.

Seungri was no different to them.

Jiyong understood.

 

 

 

 

Not fully. Never fully.

He would’t claim something so self-entitled.

 

But it was enough.

 

 

 

 

 

“Why don’t you listen?” Jiyong asked, heart going out for this person who was struggling for self-identification when Jiyong, on the other hand, knew himself so well, who he wanted to be.

Seungri’s tear-stained irises snapped up to his, almost scandalized.

Jiyong smiled, “Seems to me, babe, that if denying it hurts you to the point that you think you’re broken, maybe you should just accept… you.”

“No,” Seungri refused, vehemently shaking his head. “It’s not that simple! If I listen to it, I lose–”

Jiyong grabbed him by the sides of his neck and let his thumbs rub Seungri into calmness. “Lose what? Yourself? You _are_ doing that by denying it. Hun, you were willing to lose me.”

A part of Seungri still was, the frightened hard-headed part that wanted to rip out his balls and shove them in his face because he just wasn’t getting the drift. But years down the line, he’d realize how stupid that decision could have been if he went through with it. That was a realization that took him years. Much like how he would struggle with his next decision for more than half a decade.

“You’re not broken, Seungri,” said his lover, determined and kind enough to be gentle again. “And you may not be perfect but that doesn’t mean you’re any less a person. You’re confused, I get that. And you don’t know what to do. But if what you’ve been doing hasn’t been working, maybe it’s time you do something else.”

“But I - no, Ji, that’s too much. I can’t... if... I–” Seungri hiccupped, the mere thought of it stuttering his thoughts and invading his mind like a deathly plague.

He was brought back down from his thoughts with a gentle nip on his chin. "That’s okay," Jiyong said, whisper-like and promising a secret only they would know. "I love you. I’ll always love you. I will always be devoted to you. You have nothing to fear. Do you trust me?"

And Seungri, no matter how much he doubted himself, he would always trust Jiyong. This boy who never once neglected to make it clear to Seungri that he was his, this boy who got on one knee in a search for forever with a love worthy to be kept, this boy asked if Seungri trusted him.

“You don’t,” Seungri breathed, “you don’t hate me?”

Jiyong shook his head, reminding himself to take no offense. Seungri only needed his reassurance after all. “I don’t hate you,” he said, deciding that honesty was all for the best. “I’m still a little angry that you didn’t tell me sooner. But I’ll get over it. I understand.”

“I’m so sorry,” Seungri cried. “I have been so selfish to not think of you.”

Jiyong smiled, appreciative but disagreeing. “I thought so too. That’s what filled me, you know? It was frustrating, just the thought of how selfish you could be. But if I called you selfish, then I am no better. You were struggling, and I shouldn’t fault you for that.

“Because Seungri, if you couldn’t love yourself, then how could I expect you to love me?”

Seungri expects he couldn’t. And a blush rose on his cheeks in embarrassment and awe.

He didn’t deserve Jiyong. But he should trust Jiyong enough in his decisions to stay with him and respect the love they shared.

Seungri should have remembered to trust him the months he was sure that separation was the solution to his inadequacy.

Seungri remembered then.

“I do,” Seungri swore, more resilient than he was these past months. “I do love you. I do trust you.”

And Jiyong smiled.

And Jiyong said. “Then do me a favor. Start calling yourself a ‘she.’”

Seungri bit his lip.

Jiyong kissed her. “It’ll always start with you.”


	25. Chapter 25

Seungri stared at himself in the mirror.

And, _oh_ , he caught himself.

He meant herself.

She meant she caught herself.

It was all still rather confusing and shameful, even if she knew she shouldn’t feel like she did something wrong. But it was one thing to unconsciously call herself a _she_. It was another to refer to herself continuously as a _she_.

It’s been months since she promised Jiyong to accept herself. It’s been months of feeling guilty for doing it for him instead of herself. She wouldn’t lie and say it was all easy once she’d learned to accept that she was a she in a _he’s_ body. It was a work in progress, but it was a work slowly getting done.

There were still voices in her head, keeping a steady stream of protest, reminding her that she’d been adamant about being a she before. Forcefully bringing back memories of being beaten and robbed, of getting bullied and discriminated against.

But there were also other voices, telling her that she was stronger now, that she didn’t have to fight this alone. There were the voices of Minho and Mino and Sungmin and Jimin, ready to defend and protect her – from the teammates who discriminated immediately to the random stranger who looked at her wrong. There was Kibum who understood her the most. There was Jiyong who, although wasn’t as well-versed in the non-binary discourse, trued his best to learn and improve if only to make Seungri as comfortable as she could be.

And really, Seungri’s main struggle was with herself, and how foreign it still felt to refer to herself as a she so consciously.

Even as she stood in a pink frilly sequined gown that went to his feet and trailed a little at the back.

She had a wig on, the expensive kind, long silken black hair that waved down past her shoulders. She had on a little tiara as an embellishment. Sharp mascara on her eyelids, light pink on her cheeks, gloss on her lips, and glitters all over her body thanks to a new body lotion gifted by Kibum that smelled like coconuts and shea buttercream. The last part was her idea.

It was Key, as usual, who was responsible for making her look like a princess instead of a zombied university student swamped by papers and exams while trying to finish the year strong in basketball and getting baked goods out in reasonable time. (Daesung had told her to quit already, had even threatened to fire her, but Seungri didn’t want to be separated from the only breather she got sometimes.)

“Do you like it?” he hummed in her ear, brushes up in his fingertips the way Jiyong would hold a cigarette.

She blushed. She genuinely looked like a girl, like her mom – and oh howshe admired her mother since she was a child, wanted to grow up like this hardworking and driven woman who taught her her first dishand loved her the best way a single mother could.

She loved it. It made her feel proud. Her mother was a beautiful woman whom she loved with all her heart and looking like her pulled at her heart strings and wished that she would be there tonight to see her baby look even a tinge as lovely as she.

(This was a celebration with his friends; they were going to have a family celebration on Christmas, as per tradition. She couldn’t be any more excited.)

She loved it. Except…

“Honest, Riri. There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”

Seungri hesitated. “Well, the false eyelashes are… weird? They don’t feel right?”

Key smiled gently, dainty hands going to work wordlessly. He took no offense, wishing only for Seungri’s comfort on her day.

“You really look pretty in pink, Riri-ah,” he gushed, careful with the trans girl’s eyelashes. The color that rose on her cheeks had nothing to do with the blush. “Not that I doubted it, but things like this get to me, you know?”

Seungri hummed. She knew that Key had a soft spot for the people who were part of the community who were not able to express themselves because of some fear. Key was the type who never forced them to face their fears; he felt that it was a purely personal endeavor and to come out because of some other reason besides for yourself was not coming out at all. 

But when Riri decided to embrace his femininity, Key was there at the forefront, ready to provide any support she needed, armed with make-up and the tightest pair of jeans.

(“Skirts are out now,” he had told her. “Pants are all the rave, it gives mystery and oozes sex appeal you think you want to mess with but don’t.”)

When Key let her open her eyes, it was in front of a mirror. Without the eyelashes, she looked less like a basketball jock dressed in well-coordinated drag and more like… who she felt she was supposed to be.

Sure, her boobs were fake, but a lot of girls had fake boobs too so she guessed that was fine.

She felt hands land on her shoulder and when she looked up, tears were brimming in Kim Kibum’s eyes.

“You’re smiling, Riri,” he said and she realized that she was. “I’m so happy for you.”

She slapped his hand away, looking back at her reflection because seeing Kibum was going to make her cry and she didn’t want to cry. Not tonight.

Not when she felt a foreign sort of happiness not everyone could experience.

“I am too,” Seungri whispered, and she couldn’t find a lie in that sentence.

Key giggled, wiping off the unshed tears and patted the small of Seungri’s back to make her stand up.

“Come on now,” he urged, “it’s time. We still have a party to get to.”

Seungri laughed, standing up, unable to help the giddiness in her voice. “Well, I didn’t know, did I? I thought we were just going to have a birthday dinner after the concert but you suddenly dragged me back to the dorm and made me wear all this. I still don’t know what’s happening, by the way.”

“You’re not wrong,” Kibum said. “It’s still dinner, just a bit more special. We do have a lot of things to celebrate for this year, don’t we?”

Seungri smiled, crinkles in his eyes in nothing but pure delight. “We do.”

“All right then,” Key agreed. He was lovely. He was angel sent from heaven and Seungri didn’t know she needed someone like Kibum in her life before she met him, a need different from Jiyong, a friend different from Minho – someone who understood from her point of view.

 

And Seungri decided that she loved him.

Not more nor less than the other loves in her life.

Like her.

Different but equal.

 

Key looked down at the shorter person before him and remembered.

“Oh, the shoes!” he exclaimed. He pulled out a box from under the bed and opened it to reveal sparkly three-inch pumps, babyblue and glossy that had Seungri blanching.

Seungri couldn’t deny that they were pretty. But she also couldn’t deny that they were going to be the death of her.

“What the fuck are those?” she spat, reeling away from the wonderfully made monstrosity. “I’m not going to wear that shit. It’s too high, Kibum!”

“I agree,” he said in a tone that practically declared that he also didn’t care. “But they’re so pretty and they go so well with the dress and Minho picked them out and he did so well, that fashion-backward bestfriend of yours.”

Seungri scoffed and scowled.

“Besides,” Kibum continued and Seungri knew he wasn’t going to get out of this. “You practiced for a week, didn’t you?”

Seungri scowled deeper.

 

 

 

 

 

“Your socks are too thin, don’t you think?” Seungri was told as she was gearing up for a basketball game. “You better wear something thicker if you don’t want your pretty ankles to break.”

Seungri flinched. Since she told Jiyong months ago, she saw no reason not to tell her friends.

Not that they needed telling, they’d said. They’d been calling her their baby since they were elementary school kids who thought it would have been fun  to trigger the fire alarm to make it rain indoors.

But once she told them, they made it a point to refer to her as _her_ as much as they could. They meant well. They only wanted to show their support. But the adverse effects was inevitable.

Their team thought it was a joke at first; there was nothing peculiar about the boys calling Riri their baby girl. But they cleared it up when they could, when Seungri was courageous enough and wasn’t choked by the fear and trauma of his previous experience.

Soon, the whole team knew, and while some were closed-minded, it wasn’t like they could do anything about it. Their coach hadn’t minded, just told Seungri to be careful and that if she kept playing like she did that season, then the team should start playing like girls.

But not everyone was like her coach, or like her friends or Jiyong or her family. Word spread, and whatever gave the people the idea that just because she was _different,_ they could mock her for it, she had no idea. Still, she knew this would happen, and it had not hurt less even if she expected it.

At that moment, Seungri was afraid, like most times, like how he would be for a couple of years because acceptance was never an instantaneous thing when people were so open to declare their dislike toward who she was and she was inclined to agree.

She was reluctant to look up, too nervous to see the guy who made his socks sound like a threat and she didn’t need that kind of negativity in her life.

She knew who he was, anyway. She remembered all the voices that kept telling her she was wrong. It was the voices she yelled back at night that they were the ones who were wrong.

But when a hand landed on her head, she startled. Her heart drummed and wanted to escape its cage. Her whole body started and jumped away, shocked out of terror.

It was Minho, standing at his full height and staring the other guy down. “Back off Dongjoon,” he demanded. “What do you want?”

Thing was, it was the university’s anniversary celebration week. A week of various activities including the inter-college sports meet, and a huge concert to top it all off. The sports meet was always fun. Students would come to support their classmates and see them in another light besides of that in a classroom.

So the gym wasn’t crowded, but it also wasn’t empty. Dongjun was an engineering student,but if Seungri’s team won most of the games, they might get a chance to face them of in the following days.

“Wanted to see if there really was a twink in the basketball team. Never noticed you before but, well, look at him. Pretty hard to miss, right?”

Seungri flinched. She knew how her uniform fit to the form of her body better than most of her teammates. How her shorts were an inch higher than her knees, and how the cut of her jersey made her shoulders look a little too narrow.

Never mind that he wore a shirt under, she was too smooth to be a typical guy.

“Take a hike, jerk!” Minho growled, bodily moving between the bully and Seungri.

He got a scoff in return. “Basketball is a man’s sport, _Riri_. Come to my game on Friday and I’ll show you how it’s really played.”

The boy had the audacity to wink, already turning to walk away when Minho crossed his arms.

“Seungri could kick your ass in basketball any time, any day!”

At that Seungri stood. She pulled at Minho’s forearms and whispered harshly for the taller to leave it. Minho’s competitive and protective side were kicking – at Seungri’s expense.

“Yeah?” the other boy laughed. “Heard you guys made it to nationals but got kicked on the elimination rounds. Doesn’t seem like any of you could talk.”

At that Seungri bristled. He couldn’t take back anything now. The bastard just put their team’s name on the line.

“Like you could do better?” Seungri challenged, undeniably hurt that this guy just spat at their team’s accomplishment, one which Seungri was immensely proud of.

Dongjun laughed harder. “Oh, I do so love it when they give a fight. I’m not afraid of you, if that’s what your thinking. I could take you on.”

“Friday, then! Here. Before your game,” Minho exclaimed. “7-point shootout against Seungri.”

Dongjun gave him an incredulous look. “ _Before_ my game? Are you sure you want me _fresh?_ You’re lame excuse for a player here passes the ball 80% of the game. Must not have skills on his own.”

“Fuck you. Seungri can beat you in heels, no sweat!”

Dongjun guffawed. Seungri almost fainted.

_What the ever loving fuck was Minho do–_

“Ha! You know what? I’ll look forward to it! If Seungri even makes half of the shots I make, I’ll wear the heels instead the rest of the week!”

“Call!” yelled Minho.

“Call!” yelled Dongjun.

“Bullocks,” Seungri muttered, resigned and unable to do much else because it wasn’t like she could back out then, not when people were watching and Dongjun had insulted their team like it was his business.

Seungri was boiling inside as much as Minho was.

But fuck Minho.

He wasn’t the one who had to shoot hoops in goddamn heels.

When Dongjun walked away, thoroughly entertained, Seungri hit the back of Minho’s head as hard as she could. Girl or no, this was all his fault.

Minho hacked in pain. Seungri didn’t care.

“What the fuck, Choi?!” she hissed, frustration enough to keep her voice from booming out too loud. “How the fuck are we going to get out of this?”

“Ow, okay –ow! Hey! Seungri!” The beating doesn’t stop. 

Minho grabbed her violent hands on the upswing. Thank heavens he worked out enough to handle Seungri. “All right,” he remarked. “That’s enough. You’re being overdramatic.”

“Overdramatic?! I – a”

“Dude, shut up. I’m sorry, okay?”

Seungri pouted. Minho stared.

Seungri huffed. Minho sighed.

“I’m sorry, geez,” the taller repeated.

And he was forgiven just like that.

Seungri breathed. For all the times he got roped into something because of Minho’s bug mouth, this was the worst. There was that one time he barged into the girls’ locker room while the Volleyball team was changing, and also that one time he spent a quarter of the semester thinking he was in the right section which (and, okay, the latter one was as much his fault, but still, the point was it) was all Choi Minho’s fault.

She calmed. She told herself that killing her best friend was not the way to go.

Feeling her resigned hatred, Minho wrapped her in his arms. She struggled, but her squirms soon turned into tremors and a tell-tale sniff took over.

Minho was right.

Seungri wasn’t angry. She was terrified.

“You have nothing to fear, you know,” he said, lowering his voice to soothe all the tension out of her. He was sincere in all he said, as if it were impossible to be otherwise. “Just because you’re a woman doesn’t mean you are no better than him. I’ve seen you. And I never would have said what I said if I didn’t believe in you.

“Believe in yourself, Seungri-ah.”

And even though she couldn’t hear him much through her sniffles, she understood.

 

 

 

_It’ll always begin with you._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Key led her to the back of a small upscale restaurant. They had come into the front of the building, and had had to take the elevator up. Seungri squirmed all the way. People had stared at her and it made her feel all aware of how different she was.

It was something she had to get used to, but she had a feeling it was something she’d never be comfortable with.

Key squeezed her hand. It must have been trembling all the while.

The private room was dark when they cam in. Key told her they had it reserved. And as he left her in the middle, he told her to wait.

Dimly lit with mood lights and burning candles, Seungri knew who had been behind it.

It made her smile. It was rather too much.

Suddenly, music started playing and she was thoroughly amused.

She knew the song. She loved this song. And there was only one person who understood her obsession about it – only one who truly knew about it.

“May I have this dance?” said Minho seemingly coming out of nowhere and handing her a rose, all smooth and slow, as seductive as the track playing.

Seungri laughed, thoroughly amused because this was such a Minho thing to do. Placing the long-stemmed beauty in one hand, she placed the other on his shoulder.

“I’m not sure _Symptoms_ is a good song to dance to, Minho-yah,” she remarked, even as she swayed with her best friend.

“I’m pretty sure it’s a good song to _dance_ to, Seungri-ah,” was his reply.

Seungri snorted and took it in good stride. Minho was never someone who looked at _that way_. He never did look at his friends _that way_.

Just Jiyong.

There only ever really was Jiyong.

Minho started snickering and Seungri knew what it was all about.

“I can’t believe you,” Seungri continued to laugh. “Seriously, Choi Minho, when will you stop picking on my boyfriend?”

The taller pretended to think about it. “When he finally stops being a possessive ass?”

“So, never?”

“Probably never.”

Seungri shook her head, unable to help giggle along because even she had to admit that a possessive Jiyong was a cute Jiyong. She thrived on it.

They danced, gently and totally not fit for the music. But Minho smiled at her, and their friendship was used to saying things without words that it made her blush when she was told,

“You’re beautiful.”

It made her heart beat. It made her hands shake. It made her chest tight.

And Seungri, she was just his best friend. If this was even just a smudge of how Minho talked to Kibum, then it was no puzzle how he was able to tame their resident diva.

Seungri has never truly considered herself as someone beautiful. In the least, she has heard it in a masculine sense, that she was a pretty boy with bright eyes and thin lips. It has never really occurred to him that he was pretty, even as a girl, in a dress and in a pair of heels that were already making his feet hurt and oh –

My, how different it felt.

So Seungri pushed him away and snatched her hands back. Sporting a little pout, she thought it futile to stop the tremors in her hands. “D-don’t say such embarrassing things,” she cried, her voice squeaking up a notch. “We’re supposed to insult each other. Best friends, Choi Minho, _best friends_.”

“I know, babe,” he replied, the nickname falling easily from his lips. “But I should be nice to you on your birthday.”

Seungri breathed.

“Though, I wasn’t saying it just to be nice.”

“Yah!”

“I mean it,” and there was that sincerity again, the one that was in his eyes the first time he said it. It was uncomfortable; it made her feel things foreign and unknown. Later, in her life, when she has fully and truly accepted all of herself, she’ll take it as the compliment it was.

But right then, when she was merely doing her best to keep _trying_ , it was like a contradiction. It made her feel good, but it highlighted her difference indefinitely.

“You are beautiful, Seungri,” Minho told her again, if only to make sure that she’d remember. “Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

Her heart swelled. She was so grateful for this boy who had been at her side ever since she could remember, protecting her and caring for her subtly. It made her wonder how she deserved a best friend like Minho, who was underappreciated for all that he has done for her.

A quiet pillar, giving her the strength to stand and the occasional motivational kick especially in the mornings she was too lazy to get up. He was probably tired of her, her tendencies and intricacies and misplaced insecurities. But she could say she was tired of him too, because that was just what best friends did.

“God, you’re so annoying,” she sighed, hands on her hips and a watery smile tugging at her lips.

“Yes,” he sang, “but you still love me. Only I can call you names and get away with it, you know?”

It wasn’t a question.

“I know.”

And Seungri wouldn’t have had it any other way.

 


	26. Chapter 26

Sungmin stared at the view of the grounds available on the university’s main library. The ruffling of paper sheets and scribble of pen scratches filled the air in a sort of quiet, relaxing hush. The sun was beginning to set and the chill in the air was sure to get worse. It had just began snowing, and it had always been his favorite season because it was the season to bundle up and huddle close with hot chocolates and loved ones.

 

Given, every season was his favorite season for some reason but that was beside the point. He liked the show of snow falling when he was high off the ground. It made him think of giving snow rather than receiving it.

 

Then the click clack of sharp heels sounded crisply against the tiled floors of the library and the quiet hush raised into subdued whispers. Sungmin turned his head and hummed.

 

Attention caught and well-deserved, he mused.

 

Personally, the heels were nothing awe-inspiring. They were plain nude pumps, nothing too different from what the more sophisticated percentage of female students wore. Going up, she wore loose jeans that stopped and were folded just before her ankles, showing the pretty curve of bones and skin enticingly. Tucked into them was a plain black shirt, a little loose around the torso but snug around the neck. The sleeves of her shirt peeked under the sleeves of her jacket, covering the back of her hands and only letting her fingers show. But what Sungmin liked best was the ring hanging by a chain around her neck, rarely removed and practically a fashion staple for the girl.

 

Sungmin was still amused by the fact that it was there less because she didn’t want it on her finger, but more because it didn’t fit her anymore.

 

He smiled at her.

 

She scowled.

 

“I cannot believe,” Seungri hissed as she plopped herself onto the seat across Sungmin, angry and cute at the same time, “you chose the farthest seat in the quietest room in the whole school. Everyone stared at me, Sungmin-ah! _Everyone_!”

 

Sungmin grinned. “Then maybe you should lower your voice down,” he whispered conspiratorially. “You were practically yelling.”

 

Seungri startled. True enough, heads were turned in their direction. The librarian was looking particularly miffed with her. She slumped into her seat and raised a hand to hide her face.

 

This was humiliating. She hated all her friends. They were the cause of all her headaches. They were ungrateful brats who ate her food and made her do embarrassing things and if she could all kill them, she would.

 

Seriously, what part of _she didn’t want the attention_ did they not get?

 

“You should get used to all the attention, Seungri-ah,” Sungmin said, flapping his hand about and going back to staring longingly out the window. “Must have been hard walking on snow in heels.”

 

“Not the point, Minnie. Stay focused.”

 

Sungmin smiled. He was glad he got Minnie. Seungri had just gone up one day and decided she would like to call them nicknames, since everyone called her babe. Jimin got JimJam. Mino got Mine.

 

And Minho, poor poor Minho, he got Hoe.

 

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, Sungmin liked to say.

 

“Then what is the point, babe?” he sighed, fond exasperation laced in his voice.

 

Seungri brought her hand down and crossed her legs. For all her show of not liking walking in heels, she had a tendency to look like she was loving every second of it. She could own it, Sungmin thought, if she only allowed herself. “Point is, I hate the attention. You’ve got to help me get my shoes back from Minho. I can’t keep walking around in these heels. My feet will be dead by the end of the week.”

 

“It’s practice. It’s not like you use them all day–”

 

“I have to _walk_ to each and every one of my classes–”

 

“Okay, okay. I get you, but you have to see what Minho is training you for, right?”

 

Seungri sat back and scoffed. “My end, most likely.”

 

“Riri-ah,” Sungmin whined. He opened his eyes wide and jutted his lower lip out slightly.

 

Seungri rolled her eyes but otherwise relented. She sighed, her single response, huddling her jacket closer to her form, looking out the same window he was just a few moments ago.

 

Sungmin frowned. This shouldn’t have been something distasteful for her. They were trying to help her through this. But if she hated it, the point was lost, wasn’t it?

 

He took out his phone and snapped a picture of her. Angry or not, she was still adorable.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One day. It’s only been one day since Minho presented her with a stylish pair of nude stilettos so that she could practice. It’s only been a day and there were three more and Seungri couldn’t take it anymore.

 

The sudden rise in attention was unwanted, and even some of her professors had noticed. She was asked questions she didn’t have the courage to answer. And though she knew they didn’t mean any harm, she really wasn’t in a place yet to blurt out to the whole world who she was.

 

Especially since she didn’t exactly know who she was yet.

 

Her class got dismissed and she kept her head down, keeping up pretenses to fix her things before leaving. That way, she didn’t have to submerge into the throes of students.

 

With most of her things in her bag, she cradled a book and a binder in her arms, a few loose leaf sheets in between. The click-clacks of her heels echoed in the empty classroom as she wiggled past the narrow space between tables and chairs. Used to being the last one out, she took to turning the lights off in her classrooms.

 

But as she was about to exit the open doors, someone bumped into her, soft and strong with momentum. She fell onto her ass, hopeless in keeping her balance in those goddamned heels.

 

Pain shot through her like a shock from her butt to her neck, but it wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to. No one played basketball competitively for more than six years without falling on their ass a few times.

 

She hissed, head thrown back and breathed. Her ankles felt numb, most likely from the fear that they might have sprained from her fall.

 

“Oh, damn,” a woman – because even if her voice was deep, there was no denying the sultry lilt curving its feminine edges – said in front of her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

 

When Seungri looked up, she was already picking up the things she managed to drop in her fall. She had nice arms, was the first thing she noticed. That, and how the holes for the arms of her sleeveless shirt went all the way down past her ribs. Her grey and pink sports bra was visible, and the muscle lines hinting at abs peeking through were admirable.

 

Seungri was actually too stunned to do anything much but stare.

 

Until she directed her big round eyes toward her, and Seungri has never been flustered because of a girl before, but she had a feeling that this one would subtly stir her life anew.

 

“Are you okay?” she was asked, her discarded things on the other’s lap. “Did I hurt you?”

 

“Oh, um – oh, no,” answered Seungri eloquently. She scrambled ungracefully up her heels and straightened as much as her dignity let her. Even in them, she was barely taller than the other girl. “I’m fine.”

 

“If you’re sure,” the girl in white ripped jeans and black high-topped Converse remarked. She wore a small amused smile, jovial and friendly.

 

Flushed, Seungri reached for the stuff she kindly picked up for her, securing them in her arms once more. She bit her lip.

 

“You’re Seungri, aren’t you?”

 

“Eh?”

 

The other woman raised her hands in a symbol of peace. “I’m sorry. Was that too forward?”

 

“Um,” Seungri didn’t know how to answer that. “I… I am.”

 

“You’re prettier than I expected,” she confessed, smile turning into a grin. “You’re not actually what I expected at all.”

 

“Uh…”

 

She winced. She wrung her hands around her wrists and smiled apologetically. “Ah, I’m not off to a good start, am I?”

 

Seungri could only gulp.

 

“Sorry, just the heels gave you up and I think I’ve seen you around Key before. I’m Amber, by the way. Real fan.”

 

Seungri blinked repeatedly at that. “S-Seungri,” she replied, raising her hand so they could shake. “F-fan?”

 

Amber laughed in relief. “Yeah, oh man. When Key told me about you, I was impressed. I mean, standing up to a bully is one thing, but to put him in place in his place in heels is just – whoo mama, respect.”

 

Her enthusiasm was pressuring. “I… it’s still in a few days, though,” he had to say, as if to equally say that she shouldn’t expect so much from her.

 

Students started filling in the classroom and Seungri wanted to bolt.

 

“I know,” said Amber, already smiling so proudly it made Seungri bristle. “It really doesn’t matter if you beat him or not. You’re being brave about it all, and that to me is what’s admirable.”

 

Seungri stopped. Nobody has told her that before, at least nobody she just met. She felt her skin prickle at the odd sensation of a sort of constricting validation. Her mind stuttered in forming a response.

 

So one was made for her, in the form of Sungmin appearing from her classroom doors.

 

“Babe,” he called, much to Seungri’s further embarrassment. “What’s taking you so long?”

 

Seungri, clearly, had no response to anything.

 

So Sungmin smiled and entered without any prompting. He took the books in her hands, even the bag slung on her shoulder.

 

Then he noticed the other girl standing before them. “Hi, sorry. We kind of need to get going. She still has a class to get to. It’s not an imposition, is it?”

 

“Oh, no, it’s totally fine,” Amber remarked. “You can take her.” Then her eyes shined. “I’m assuming you’re the boyfriend?”

 

There was a concerning splutter.

 

“Lee Sungmin,” said the shooting guard, holding his hand out with a shrug of his shoulders, because why not? Being Seungri’s boyfriend wasn’t too bad of a thing.

 

“Amber Liu,” she introduced back. “I kinda have a crush on your girlfriend now, but it’s totally safe.”

 

There was a _very_ concerning splutter.

 

Sungmin laughed. “Then I really have to get her away from you. I’m not taking any chances. She’s too precious not to keep.”

 

Amber grinned at both of them.

 

There might or might not have been a punch that landed on Sungmin’s back, but he didn’t mind it. He got used to shit like that.

 

Instead, he pulled at Seungri’s hand, leading them away quickly if they both wanted to get to class on time.

 

“I’ll see you around, Ri!” he heard Amber call.

 

“Y-you too,” he heard Seungri call back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The walk to her next class wasn’t too long, but it was in the next building.

 

“What are you doing here, Sungmin-ah?” she asked. “Don’t you have class?” She was clinging to his arm, eyes still on her feet because her ankles still felt a little wobbly from the fall.

 

“Nope,” Sungmin lied, noting that he’d have to run in dress shoes later. He should remember to wear shoes easier to run in this week. “Besides, picking you up from class is the boyfriend thing to do, right?”

 

“Oh, shut it,” Seungri lightly snapped, swaying her hips into Sungmin’s in weak retaliation. “I have a feeling that’s going to bite me in the ass one day.”

 

Sungmin swayed his hips back. “And I’ll be there with you.”

 

She scowled at him playfully. He laughed. “Seriously, Ri-ah, you have nothing to worry about. I’ll always be here for you.”

 

“You know,” she sighed, wanting no more than for that day to end. The internal pressure was ultimately more taxing than the physical was. She had one last class. The sooner she got it over with, the better. “Usually, when someone says that, it’s _we_. Like, _We’ll always be here for you_. They don’t exclude other friends.”

 

“Well, I am,” Sungmin spouted petulantly. “I’m the one who’s practically carrying you to the third floor. I deserve whatever that entails.”

 

And Seungri wasn’t about to object to that. She just leaned into him more, happier than she ever thought she’d be that Sungmin liked to lift weights as much as Minho.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The music died down and Minho let go of her. He gave her a smirk and stalked back into the dark – mysterious and handsome, but all it did was bubble laughter in Seungri’s stomach because that was her best friend, and it would take a lot more than that to make her see him in the same light as Kibum obviously did.

 

Then it transitioned into something less sensual and more of what love was.

 

Considering, of course, that the first line of the song was _Yeah, this is love_.

 

Sungmin came in singing and lightly bouncing to the song like he was part of the first verse. He handed her a rose and spun her quickly, keeping in tune with the upbeat. Seungri laughed.

 

Then she sang the chorus with him, dancing the steps as much as she could in a dress that touched the ground and heels that touched the sky.

 

When the rap lines of the second verse came in, Sungmin took to holding her hands and swinging from side to side, kinder to her tired feet.

 

“You always appear out of nowhere recently,” she teased, shallowly trying to catch her breath. “It’s like you’re a rabbit or something.”

 

“More like a pumpkin.”

 

“A what?”

 

“Nothing,” Sungmin grinned. “You good?”

 

How could she be anything but? “Yeah, now that you’re here. At least your song choice fits better than Minho’s.”

 

That caused Sungmin to laugh, hand on his chest and a shake to his shoulders. “You should wait until you hear the rest. It’s like we took the idea and ran the opposite way with it.”

 

“I have no doubt. But I still like yours. Even if I think I went to grade school with one of them SuJu kids.”

 

Sungmin smirked. “I have no doubt. You seem to have gone to school with a lot of idols.”

 

There was a quick silence between them before Seungri enveloped him in a hug. “I’m so glad I met you,” she confessed, meaning every word, said and unsaid. “Everything this week was easier because you were around.”

 

“All I did was carry your books, Seungri-ah,” Sungmin said, hugging her back but taking the gratitude for what it was.

 

She pinched his fluffy cheeks. “Stop fishing. You were an angel and you knew it.”

 

Sungmin grinned. All throughout the week he picked her up from every class and took her to her next one, carrying her things for her, holding her hand, or wrapping her arms around his – like her personal attendant, a reminder that even if more people talked and stared, she wasn’t alone. He took her attention from all the prying eyes. He made her laugh to cover all the dangerous lies.

 

And he just was.

 

There. For her.

 

Without any expectation and just.

 

Let her be her.

 

Sungmin grinned. He wasn’t humble. Seungri was thankful.

 

“I know,” Sungmin said. And Seungri merely squeezed him tight because it made her heart swell to prove that friendship wasn’t simply a test of time.

 

“You’ve been so wonderfully brave, baby,” Sungmin added, the teasing smile morphing into a sweetly sincere one, making Seungri feel things so much like what Minho just made her feel. “Exceptionally so. But even the bravest heroes has had their weaker moments, and it’s only right that I show you that you don’t have to put up a brave front every time.”

 

Seungri blushed and pressed her lips. She wasn’t expecting a speech, but judging by how things were going, she was going to be a happy crying mess by the end of the night. Minho was so sweet. Sungmin was so sweet. She was about to cry.

 

She didn’t want to. She sniffed.

 

“I told you didn’t I?” Sungmin finalized, rubbing his thumb under her eyes, keeping away the tentative tears. “You have nothing to fear. _We_ ’ll always be here for you.”

 

“I know,” Seungri croaked, her voice small and eternally thankful. Then she grinned, letting the seed of happiness burry in her heart and bloom. “But Amber still thinks you’re my actual boyfriend so I’m going to cash in on that whenever she’s around so get your wallet prepared.”

 

Sungmin laughed. “I know that too.”

 

 

 

 

 


	27. Chapter 27

“Jinwoo, the shirts,” Mino commanded, standing by their dorm room door, fists on his hips and war paint in lines on his face. Well, they weren’t actually war paint. Just poster, bought cheap at a bookstore yesterday on a very Mino-like whim.

Jinwoo rushed to the front and gave a salute. “Here, captain!” he reported obediently, hoisting a bag on his shoulder.

“Seunghoon,” Mino called next, “make-up?!”

Seunghoon stood but nevertheless leaned on the wall. “Hyung, Mino,” he reminded. “Manners.”

Mino was hearing none of it. “I don’t have to call you hyung when I’m higher in rank, soldier. Make-up?!”

“Got it,” Seunghoon sighed, showing them a small transparent bag filled with cosmetics. “We do owe Bom-noona a favor, though. You know how she is.”

Mino deflated at that. But, no, that shouldn’t defer him. He had a mission.

He shook himself sturdy. “No matter. It’ll be worth it. Seungyoon!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” was their maknae’s enthusiastic response. He bounded up to the front, and Mino didn’t miss the fond looks the other three sent their youngest.

“Pompoms,” Mino demanded, as much as he could demand while saying pompoms.

Seungyoon raised and shook a plastic bag filled with colourful metallic strings. “Ready and waiting, sir!” he announced, a huge grin on his thick lips.

Mino nodded. Good. They had an essential mission to accomplish, and they had no time to dilly dally.

“Move out, troops,” he boomed, wrenching their dorm room open and surprising the students just outside. “To _Victory!_ ”

The other students didn’t mind. The boys from room A had always been obnoxiously loud and weird and always up to good.

Especially the one who vaguely looked like G-Dragon.

 

 

 

 

 

Seungri was shaking. And it wasn’t even the mild kind. It was so severe, she suspected she could single-handedly cause an earthquake if they buried her in the ground. Which, yeah, maybe she wanted to be buried in the ground instead of playing this stupid ego-driven game.

It was ridiculous. It was torture.

It was something she had to do because even if her insecurities allowed her to accept all the insults they had about her identity, her pride wouldn’t take insults to her hard work lying down. She had a complicated relationship with herself. She’s sure some people could relate.

Her and basketball, though. That was different. If she flourished her cooking talent into a dream, she never had the same for basketball. It was hobby, but definitely more than that. The basketball court was still one of the main places where she could feel relaxed, rested, comfortable and accepted.

When she looked up at the ring from the three point line, letting the ball drop from her fingertips to the ground, only to bounce back up to her, that was it. That was tranquility. The feeling of being able to do something well, not because of luck or connection or whatever else, but because of hard work and training, almost everyday for years, of gunning for something with the boys she trusted, with the boys who trusted her, of being proud because they make their shots or put up a good defense, and being proud because she made the shots they hadn’t been able to make and putting up a good defense because that was her job – that feeling was one she treasured.

Girl or no. What she had between her legs, or what her heart and soul told her, they were her achievements to claim.

And no one could just come in and invalidate her like that.

So she swallowed her insecurities.

Because how dare he? This asshole who she didn’t bother remembering the name of, he had no right.

 

 

 

There were too many people in the gym. Students from other colleges who had heard about their little fiasco, wanting to see the little fag from the basketball team who went to Nationals but didn’t get really far.

Dongjun was already there, arms around a girl and his friends around him. The moment Seungri stepped into the gym proper, noise thundered in her ears and her heart threatened to spills from her lips. Dongjun’s eyes zeroed in on her, a dastard smirk on his lips.

It enveloped her in cold. The way he and his fucking squad made her feel so small, so insignificant, like the unwanted blemish on otherwise smooth and healthy skin.

She shook herself out of it. That was not the time. She had a purpose, one she liked to think that was bigger than her. And she has been kidding herself for so long that she was no she. Perhaps she could kid herself that she was brave for a couple of hours too.

"Where are your heels, Riri?" Dongjun asked from all the way across the court, snickering.

Seungri glared. “Don’t get your panties up in a bunch, Dongjun,” she said as calmly as she could, sternly aware of how sexist that statement might have sounded. “I didn’t know you were this eager to get you ass handed to you.”

There was a collective _ooooh_ , and Seungri belatedly realized that the thin crowd was listening.

Dongjun laughed, like the joke was on Seungri all along. “Feisty,” he remarked. “But you should take them out. The crowd is waiting and I really want to get this over with. I have another game to play.”

Seungri sneered and turned. Dongjun had a way of making people feel like they were insignificant, as if Seungri was only one of his many conquests that day.

And _conquest_ was such a multi-meaning word. Seungri would mean every one of it if he lost to the asshole.

Seungri brought out a cute pair of jive heels from her bag, the modest two-inch stiletto a good enough height to satisfy both Dongjun and herself. Seungri had walked all-around campus in at least three for the week. Jive shoes were made to dance and spin and jump and slide around in. Shee should be prepared well-enough. Even if she felt like she was drowning.

There were 35 shots to make, five from each corner of the three-point area – near the baselines, lower on the wings, near the elbows – and the top. All three-pointers at one point each. The drill had been part of her everyday training regimen, and though he was no Sungmin who had the aim of a marine sniper desperate to win a war, Seungri wasn’t half bad.

But secretly, she’d also practiced all week in those heels, only telling her coach who was, although disapproving, listened when Seungri told him that this was what she needed to do, not just for the team, but also for herself. She almost cried when he gave her his unequivocal support. But she knew that their coach was no crier, no matter how much he actually cared for his team.

So, really, Seungri had no excuse as she strapped the pair on her feet, nails cleaned and trimmed and polished because she was still just a girl. As the bounce of a basketball bet to the drumming of her heart, she looked up. Dongjun had their ball basket wheeled onto the court.

He smiled at her when she straightened. “You know the rules, right, Seungri-ah? If I win, you’re going to be my bitch?”

“And if I win?” was Seungri’s only answer.

Dongjun scoffed. “Unlikely. But say you do. What do you want? My dick in your world? ‘Cause that can easily be arranged.”

“I don’t want anything from you, you piece of shit. How about you come to tomorrow’s festival and wear these heels instead? I’ll need pictures as proof, too.” Seungri was so disgusted by the mere thought of Dongjun standing close to her. She kept her simple demand concise, not trusting that words would have been the only thing to spill from her mouth.

“That it?” Dongjun further challenged.

“That’s it,” Seungri affirmed.

Dongjun nodded. “Then let’s get this party started,” he howled, making the students go into a little frenzy. “Jae, help me out here, man.”

Seungri sniffed in disdain. Jae was supposed to be her teammate, but the younger hadn’t held back in expressing his distaste of her. Along with the two other on Dongjun’s side of the court. It hurt, of course, that even after at least a season of teamwork, they were adamantly not on her side. But she tried not to care. There was nothing she could do about it.

Regardless of what they thought, she was starting five. They weren’t.

And just like that, the competition started.

 

Dongjun was by no means inadequate. He made his shots after almost every shot. He was no stranger to the game and it showed in his skill. Jae, traitorous Jae, her mind supplied, he passed Dongjun the ball and encouragement, and as soon as they landed between the latter’s palms, he let them roll off his fingertips and into the basket. She barely registered the other people picking the other balls up and letting them back in the bin, a seemingly endless supply as Dongjun delivered his blows.

There were thirty-five shots to make.

He made twenty-six.

He only missed nine times.

Seungri only had nine chances to fail.

 

 

 

Her heart thundered as the gym erupted into an impressed applause. Done quick and successfully, the male turned to her, sure in her defeat.

“Your turn,” was all he said, more menacing than any of the threats he has ever given her.

Seungri stepped forward, mind and body feeling weaker than it should. No one stepped out to help her like Jae did, and the crowd settled into a deafening silence.

 

 

 

 

Then, akin to a hot knife on butter, noise cut through it, in the form of something so achingly familiar, Seungri almost cried in relief.

And also in frustration because more than eight years may have passed, but her friends would never change.

“OW! OW! MINHO YOU ASSHOLE, THAT HURTS!”

“WELL, IF YOU HADN’T ACTED LIKE A STUPID PIECE OF SHIT, NOTHING WOULD!”

“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO HELP ME, YOU JERK, NOT MAKE EVERYTHING WORSE!”

“I COULD HAVE LEFT YOU OUT TO ROT FOR ALL I CARE, YOU UNGRATEFUL BASTARD!”

“Minho-yah, let the poor boy go. He’s probably learned his lesson. And you know he meant well. Right, Mino?”

“Yeah, right. As if Mino- _hyung_ has done anything ever remotely mature. He’s the worst out of all of us.”

“See, Sungmin understands–”

“Shut up. Jimin is right and you should shut your trap.”

Seungri laughed. The spectacle made the audience spread and let his friends pass through. There was Jimin, already running toward her as soon as their eyes connected. Sungmin, giving a more dignified wave as he approached. And then Minho, who was happy to see him, even if he was dragging Mino by his arm.

Seungri was so glad. Well, he would have been so glad if –

“Is that,” she choked, more startled than anything, “Mine, are those heels you’re wearing?”

Mino pushed Minho back, trying to stand straight but wobbled on the way. “You’re damn right these are heels that I’m wearing!”

And then, just when Seungri thought it was over, cheers erupted from the entrance, making another spectacle, even if there were only eight people making it.

Yoon, Hoony, Jinu, Amber, and Key came in strutting – _strutting_ – in heels themselves while Jinki, Jonghyun, and Taemin entered as enthusiastically, but in rather more dignified pairs of shoes. The noise they made was almost excruciating, the shrill of Key’s and Jonghyun’s voice way above the rest. It was endearingly embarrassing and she felt her sweat drop. Her strange friends had strange friends and, ah yes, this was her life.

“I brought support too,” Mino needlessly informed. “We’re wearing heels to show our support!”

“Holy sh – is that Jae?” Jimin suddenly intervened. “And Chongpil and Kyu?”

“Bastards,” Minho remarked.

“Well, it isn’t too much of a surprise, is it?” Sungmin opined.

“Yah!” suddenly yelled Dongjun irritably. “Are you lily pods done yet? I have a challenge to win here.”

Seungri, Minho, Minho, Sungmin, and Jimin tsked simultaneously.

“Go kick his ass, _noona_ ,” Jimin emphasized, giving her a pat in the shoulder and walking to the side of the court.

“You can do this, honey babe,” Sungmin positively enthused, giving her a wink before retreating to the side.

“I’ll help you!” Mino offered, heading to the ball bin.

He was pulled at the collar by Minho. “Not in those heels, you’re not.”

“But I wanna!” Mino cried.

And before things got worse again, Seungri stepped in. “Let him,” she told Minho. “He’ll just make a fuss if he doesn’t get what he wants.”

Minho sighed and eyed her. He smiled. If she said so, then he had no reason to say no. “You got this,” he promised, leaving no room for doubt.

She nodded back and faced the ring. Under it went Mino, reassuring her with the sureness of his stance and unwavering belief. With the hold of a university basketball player, Mino gripped at one of the basketballs with one hand. A smirk, the smirk Seungri knew Mino would wear when he got the opponent to believe he would make the shot. It was a smirk Seungri knew so well and by instinct, her knees bent, feet shoulder-width apart and her hands in position.

It was the smirk Mino wore when he would pass the ball back to Seungri, securing them three points even before the ball would leave the big man’s fingers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Well look at you,” Mino hummed, grabbing her by the waist and swinging her around with the charisma of a boy who knew he had it. “Aren’t I lucky to have a pretty girl in my arms?”

Seungri giggled. She didn’t blush. There was nothing romantic about having Mino this close. Not when he had dyed his hair grass-green and all Seungri could think about were giraffes eating at it.

(Years later, Jiyong would sport the same shade. And he’d have had to sort to extreme measures to keep her from laughing. Not that she ever complained. She loved them all.)

Mino shrugged. “I didn’t mean for that to be funny, but I’ll take what I can get, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” Seungri wheezed. “I just can’t take you seriously with that hair.”

Mino chuckled. “That’s all right,” he said, tipping his head, gesturing for her to take note of the song.

And Seungri remembered that one. It was a song sang not in victory, but in the sense of freedom and letting go, leaving it all to the wind after a number of grueling battles and desperation, fought with and against the closest of friends. Written as a reminder that despite all the downs, there were always reasons to rise back up.

_Smile Again._

And Mino even had the raw version, the one the members sang during the reality show, unpolished by producers and purely them. Seungri liked that better.

“The song fits you, don’t you think?” she was asked.

Seungri hummed her assent. It did fit her. But that it was the song Mino chose fit better.

Mino, she realized, and not for the first time, was always there to put a smile back onto her face, no matter how fleeting and temporary. And she had to be thankful for that.

He wasn’t Jiyong. Nobody could be like Jiyong in her mind.

But Mino was a friend, one she treasured and loved nevertheless.

Much like the three others who had been by her side ever since she could remember.

“I can’t believe you turned out to be a hero,” she giggled good-naturedly, swinging to the beat of synths and guitar lines.

“I feel an insult coming.”

“It’s just that,” she continued. “Woe is the world if they had a savior like you–”

“Hey now.”

“But lucky me to have a friend in you.”

Mino choked. He hadn’t expected that.

Then Seungri giggled more and the spell was broken. They laughed. All was fine.

So long as Seungri was smiling again.

“You know,” Mino began once more. Oddly enough, Seungri knew he saved this for the end. “You’re amazing. At the back of my mind, I always knew you were. But yesterday was so much of a reminder it’s still overwhelming.”

Seungri blushed, hands going tighter around Mino’s. “You flatter me.”

“Quite right, too! Babe, you scored twenty-seven points! Just a point more than Dongjun! Did you hear the crowd roar when you made that last shot? The _actual last_ shot, to boot! Honey, you were fucking amazing!”

Seungri laughed, embarrassed, and ultimately proud of herself because yeah, she did that.

“You helped me, too,” she pointed out. “I’ll forever be thankful that you were there.”

Mino smiled, gently, pouring all his intentional sincerity into his next words. “And I will always be. We will always be. Might be a bit late. But you can count on us.”

Seungri wondered why it was all rather easy when it came to Mino. Perhaps it was him. Perhaps it was her. Perhaps it was them both who fit with each other like the song fit the moment, but she had no control over it and neither did she mind. Mino was her hero, and someone out there would be his.

And she didn’t mean to single him out. She had a lot of heroes. She also had a lot of heroines.

And she figured she should be one of them and start saving herself.

“I wouldn’t mind waiting, then,” Seungri concluded.

Mino smiled. “We’ll never make you wait long.”

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, this is done. I have no words left to say except thank you. Really, thank you. The previous chapters had been nothing much, and maybe this would be too, but thank you.
> 
> Fair warning, if you find it weird to read Seungri as a “she,” then don’t read this. I was planning to make a rewrite for this chap with Seungri as a “he,” but then it didn’t feel like staying true to the point of it all. Please understand. Anyway, along with Nyongtory, there were hints of other pairs in this. The most prominent had been between Minho and Key from Shinee. The other is between Shinee’s Taemin and BTS’s Jimin.
> 
> In Minkey, the story was Minho had been straight. Key was his first non-female partner. And Key had been through many relationships before, enough to feel like he was always an “experiment.” But Minho actually loved him and Seungri played a part to stop them from running, and such. It doesn’t sound all too romantic summarized. But if anybody wants to write something like that, go.
> 
> In Taemin and Jimin, Tae is aro who likes sex, and Jimin is ace who wants romance. It’s just that. But the idea of Jimin falling in love with Tae was so dangerous I couldn’t keep myself from alluding to it. If anybody wants to write about that too, go.
> 
> Mino was also supposed to have a relationship with Kang Seungyoon, but I figured, maybe in another fic.
> 
> Sungmin was the single guy from the start. Sorry hun. But at least you’re married IRL. (SuJu coming back without him saddens me though.)
> 
> Anyway, seems like I have a penchant for unrelated A/N’s but hell. Sorry.
> 
> Really, though, to anyone who still reads this fic, thank you. You’ve been so kind.
> 
> All the love,
> 
> FeatherFall.

 

Lee Seunghyun’s breath caught as the lights dimmed low and the stars shone in the Seoul night sky. They were nothing compared to the stars in Chuncheon. But nothing shone like the star on the stage in front of him, forever in his eyes.

He could recognize his face, anywhere, anytime, because it was one engraved into the deepest recesses of his mind. But he couldn’t recognize the voice. Because it wasn’t Jiyong’s in the first place.

It was his own.

_It was his own._

 

His whole childhood flashed before his eyes and he felt like everything led to this moment: that after a week of struggling with himself, of feeling like scum, of having made to feel that way by the ever-present bullies in his life, Jiyong stood above all of them, on a stage in front of everyone else to see, singing a song he wrote and was singing only for Seungri, and making the latter feel like he was most loved.

Which he was.

The boy every female student on campus wanted to loved them, loved him, and all felt right.

Jiyong loved him – loved _her_.

Enough to be so brave as to showcase his heart in the form of a song, hidden in a few lines.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seungri felt tears roll down her face as soon as the music played. Seungri had been so stupid, hurting when she had no reason to. She’d been so wrong to mistrust Jiyong when the boy had done nothing but love her in every way he could.

Jiyong came out with his hair back to black, unstyled; his face void of any make-up. He wore a basic black and white tux. He was wearing neither jewellery nor any sort of embellishment for that matter. Except for a red rose, no better looking than the others than she had already received.

It’s been a while since she has seen Jiyong like this – out of his idol persona and just him. She has more often than not caught him in between schedules, catching flights and shows and whatever it was that idols did nowadays.

He was still handsomer than anyone and anything she as ever laid her eyes on. Even if she was a little bit taller than him with the heels on.

His thumb caressed her cheek to wipe her tears away. “Darling, I’m happy to see you too, but I’m not crying about it.”

She took the rose and hit her boyfriend with it. “Weeks of not seeing each other and that’s the first thing you say to me?”

“I love you?”

“Try again.”

“Well, I did have a spiel about how I’m just a man holding a pretty flower that is you, but I saw you happy to see me and I just couldn’t help myself.”

Seungri laughed. Her hands wrapped around Jiyong’s neck because when it all boiled down to it, it didn’t matter if Jiyong prepared a whole novel or nothing at all. So long as they were together, that was enough.

She pressed their lips together, light and reverent: a better greeting than most. Then she pressed their bodies closer as the music continued to play. Jiyong chuckled and she sighed.

“I can’t believe you still pushed through with this song,” she said. “It turned out good though, so I guess I can’t really complain.”

Jiyong buried his nose against her throat. “Why can’t you believe it?”

“Well, for one thing,” she stated. “I’m no singer. And hearing my voice sounds so weird I’m almost sure that song won’t sell.”

“It will,” Jiyong remarked with conviction. “It’s a good song, Riri. And you sang well. I’ve been listening to you sing for as long as we’ve been together and _Blue_ couldn’t have been written if it weren’t for you. Only your voice could have made it work.”

“I find that incredible, though,” confessed Seungri. “I’m sure there are better singers than I… like _her_.”

Jiyong pulled a little way away as he snickered. He cupped Seungri cheek. “Darling, what are you saying? She’ll never be better than you in my eyes. Please stop being jealous of her. You have nothing – _nothing –_ to be worried about. Besides, if I’m going to be totally honest, she’s not even that good. I mean, Chae was better when we were in Middle School.”

“You must be exaggerating,” laughed Seungri.

“Am I?” challenged Jiyong. Then he pulled them back together again, chest to chest, as little space as possible in between. “But point is, that song was for you, written for you, and I would never settle for anything less when perfection is right in front of me.”

“Okay,” Seungri blushed. “Now I’m certain you’re exaggerating.”

Jiyong squeezed her tighter. “I’m certain I’m not.”

Seungri dropped her head on Jiyong’s shoulder. “What am I to do with you? You’re going to be the death of me.”

Jiyong did the same. “How about you live with me, Seungri?” he suddenly asked, banking on the wordplay and trying to make it work. “Like we used to plan.”

“Are you,” she hesitated, heart in her throat, “are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

His hands slid to her cheeks, thumbs near the corners of her pretty bow lips. He gave them a peck, unsettled by the panic that settled on her features. “I miss you every day,” he admitted. “Imagine my agony to be without you every month.”

Seungri gulped. Her palms started to sweat, suddenly unready for the oncoming conversation.

“I come home with Youngbae, doll. And I can’t stop thinking about how majestic it would be to come home to you.” Jiyong slid his hands back down her shoulders, to her elbows and hands. “I know we won’t be able to see each other as much as we would like even if we do live together, but wouldn’t it be nice to sleep on the same bed every now and then? To spend the few free hours we have together?”

Jiyong’s eyes bore intensely into hers. And Seungri couldn’t read them, lost as she was in her own apprehensions.

They should be kissing instead. Kissing, she could handle.

This… well, this was a pill still too bitter to swallow.

Then Jiyong raised her hands and kissed her knuckles. He sighed in disappointment, kept his head low as he surprised her when he said, “It’s all right. I understand.”

She inhaled audibly.

“If I knew you,” Jiyong continued. He flashed her a smirk. “Which I hope I do, then I’d know that you’ll be hesitant to leave the life you’ve built. It’ll be unfair of me, wouldn’t it? So I’m not going to ask anymore, but the offer will remain standing.”

Seungri bristled. She pulled her hands away from her heart’s hold only to clutch at her skirts. Her insides felt cold. How dare she?

How dare she promise him forever, how dare she promise disclosure, only to, in the end–

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. Her lips trembled along with her voice. “I – I didn’t mean, I mean–”

Jiyong pressed them in urgency. “It’s okay. I understand. Someday, we’ll be together in the way we could only dream of now. But as it is, we’re caught in our own dreams. I can’t take that away from you when you’re the main reason I’m living mine. So I’ll wait patiently for the day when you’ll come to me instead.”

It sounded so sweet. Jiyong’s words were beautifully covered in a mirror glaze that reflected all that Seungri wanted. But she didn’t think he knew what he was saying. She wondered if he’d still feel the same way if he just _knew_.

She took a step away. The inches they were apart felt like a million miles. She wanted to go back into his arms, where she felt most safe and at home. But if she did that then, she doubted that she would have the courage to spread her own wings and fly.

“I need to tell you something,” she began, voice cracking in her nervousness. “P-please listen.”

Jiyong followed closer and placed his hands on her waist. “Sounds important,” he hummed. “Do I need to sit for this?”

“Y-you might,” she gulped. If this was a segue, then Jiyong was doing a mighty fine job at it. Her thoughts were derailing. Her courage was waning. And she wasn’t sure if that was what Jiyong wanted.

He pulled at her, guided her to the table with his hand on the small of her back. He took her to the corner where it was most dark, and sat her down on his lap, despite the volume of her skirt.

“I need to talk to you properly,” she protested. Jiyong’s hold was firm. She wanted to get off.

“You can talk to me properly, here,” he insisted.

Then she knew she couldn’t fight him, not with this, not when his eyes were telling her things she didn’t need words to hear. They had limited time. She was limiting their time. The least she could do was give all that she could give because that was what he deserved from her.

If she learned anything from playing basketball, it was the _quality_ of the minutes that counted, not the amount.

“I took the offer,” she declared. She felt strained but determined. “Daesung’s offer. I’m leaving for Japan the first week of April.”

By the reaction on Jiyong’s face, it seemed like his heart stopped. Might as well rip the rest of the bandage off, she thought.

“Chef Seunghyun likes me, Jiyong,” she tried to smile. “Dae even said that he was only willing to work with _me_. Can you believe it? And the investors want him so much, they’re willing to pay me almost as much as he.”

Her voice sounded watery to her. She didn’t know why. The news had made her so happy when she heard it.

“Choi Seunghyun, Ji,” she reiterated, hands starting to tremble as Jiyong started to frown. “The infamous Korean Chef in Japan. He gave me a skirt last week, coloured like a rainbow because he thought it suit me best. He never even questioned when Daesung told him I’m a _she_. He just said he failed to see how that mattered in the grand scheme of things.”

“I see,” murmured Jiyong, curbing Seungri’s already almost non-existent enthusiasm.

She stuttered. “B-Babe?”

His eyes went to hers. “How long? Will you need to be away, I mean?”

Her heart wept. “I’m moving there, Jiyong. For as long as I need.”

Time passed slowly as she waited for his answer. Seconds felt like minutes and each of it made her heart break. It’s only been a week since she finally made the decision. And it wasn’t like she kept the information _from_ Jiyong. He knew. She knew he knew.

But they never talked about it.

Even when she told him how she was spending her days working with Choi Seunghyun as a trial apprentice, instead at Daesung’s shop, they never talked.

Even when she told him of what things could be, they never talked.

Ironic, really, when what almost broke them up was the fact that Seungri never talked.

But she couldn’t blame Jiyong, now could she? Not when _talking_ led to this.

He shook, a whole body shudder, not simply from the cold.

“You’re going to,” he tried, breath catching in his throat and threatening to kill him. “You have to–”

But nothing would come out properly.

She curled her hands on his lapel and pulled, locking her lips in his in an unspoken apology, a sad farewell, a needed reassurance.

“I love you,” she confessed.

“I love you too,” he whispered, sure of that if not of anything else.

“I’m sorry,” she gave.

“You don’t have to be,” he gave back. “But you have to give me some time.”

Her heart fluttered in hope. “How long?”

“For as long as I need.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seungri didn’t know how much time Jiyong actually needed.

But she was ready to give him all, whatever that amount was, if it meant the peace such as they had then.

The night went on without a hitch, with Jiyong’s hand constantly in hers, or any part of her, giving her reassurance when it should have been the other way around.

Kibum had entered clapping his hands, batting no eyelash at their intimate position. He announced that though it was all well and good and they were disgustingly adorable sharing a seat like that, Mino was getting hungry and annoying, that they must be famished too. So Jiyong had kissed her on the cheek and guided her to the seat next to his, and let the night go on as originally planned. Jiyong had been a tad more sombre through the night. But Seungri was thankful Minho riled him up enough that no one noticed a thing.

Well, no one, except for everyone.

The sadness and fear was still evident in her eyes, she presumed.

And as they told her their goodbyes, and as she thanked them for the birthday celebration, they also reminded her that Jiyong loved her, with all his eyes, and that was clear.

She thanked them even more.

As Jiyong led her back to his apartment in Seoul, the one that held so many memories of them, her heart thundered again.

Jiyong was hauntingly quiet, his smile gone from his face. Even with her heels in one hand and hers in his other, she still felt unbalanced. He’d placed his coat over her shoulders and kept her close all throughout the night. She knew these were gestures to keep her calm, but somehow she couldn’t.

His face told a different story.

When they entered the apartment, he turned on no light. He simply placed her shoes by the door, removed his as well, and took her to the bedroom. All the while silent, but never leaving her side, not once.

“Do you need to use the bathroom?” he asked her, whispered, once they were inside.

She shook her head. Her false locks waved around her. Her voice had seemingly gone.

“Okay,” Jiyong said, even softer as before, and his hands found their way to her cheeks.

He kissed her, to Seungri’s surprise, delicately, wantonly, as if he was walking on a tight wire. Seungri closed her eyes and let her lips move with his, gliding against each other soothingly.

Finally, she was able to breathe.

“Ji,” she sighed, fingers woven around his neck, since when she didn’t know. “Jiyong-ah.”

His tongue delved deeper in response, making her whine softly.

It was too quiet. The dead of the night and their being alone was too audible in that single room. She could hear how their tongues mingled, how her breath hitched, how she kept sighing his name.

And Jiyong must have thought the same because she heard him growl.

He flicked his coat off her shoulders before guiding her hands to the buttons of his vest. One by one, her fingers unbuttoned, followed by his dress shirt until his clothes were on the floor. Jiyong’s tattooed body was delicious in the dark, a true look of sin with its ridges of muscle.

Jiyong kissed her neck. And as she thought the he was going to undress her, his hands went to her nape.

She grabbed his wrists.

“H-Hold on,” she squeaked. She pulled his hands back and blushed. “M-maybe I should… I think I do need the b-bathroom.”

He hummed. “Why are you nervous?”

“I… I’ll look weird without the wig.”

“You’ll look like you without the wig.”

“B-but with the make-up…”

Jiyong smiled. He gently raised her chin. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he told her. “You don’t have to fear anything when it comes to me.”

His voice had been barely above a whisper, but it held conviction and sincerity. Seungri couldn’t help but trust him, all the tension strained from her form with just a few words from this boy.

 _Man_ , she couldn’t help but correct herself seeing how defined his arms were, the strength of his  shoulders, and puff of his chest. His stomach had cuts that weren’t there before. Leaner still than most of the athletes he knew, but Jiyong’s lines held an enticing grace despite his rough image.

Seungri wanted to lick every part of him.

Long, meticulous, fingers reached once more to her head. Carefully, almost professionally, he slid off her tresses, leaving her with her natural hair: short, messy, and a little damp with sweat.

Jiyong raked his fingers between them, mussing them up more or perhaps reigning in the mess, and smiled. “Better?”

“Cooler,” Seungri smiled despite herself. “Lighter, too.”

Jiyong chuckled, eyes shining. Then he sighed and latched his lips to the juncture of her neck, right where it met her shoulder, making her shiver. “You’re so beautiful,” he groaned, as if that were a fact, as if that fact pained him. “I can’t believe it’s fucking true.”

“What is?” she probed, closing her eyes and simply _feeling_ him.

He led them to the bed, where he sat down before her, looking up at her reverently. “They say that when you’re in love with someone, everyone else pales in comparison. It’s cliché. I know. But when I look at you, you glow. And in my eyes, nobody could be more beautiful than you.”

He said that while her short hair was a mess. He said that while her male body was in a dress. He said that while sitting down and looking up at her as if she were his queen.

Seungri, in all her imperfect glory, beamed.

Jiyong loved her.

 _Jiyong_ loved her.

Jiyong _loved_ her.

Jiyong loved _her._

_Jiyong loved her._

She pushed him down. On the bed which she thought of as theirs, she braced his shoulders. Her skirts puffed around her as she straddled him, sitting on a perch where she has sat before.

They’ve done this. This wasn’t new. But they’ve never done it quite like this before.

She still had caramel skin that glowed faintly in the moonlight, casting shadows on lines and curves arresting in its beauty. She watched as the sight of her blew Jiyong’s pupils wide, close enough to see his breath catch in his skirt-covered chest.

She took delight in it. She was relaxed in her power, and she awarded him with a deep kiss, languid but nevertheless undeniable in its message.

“I want you so much,” whispered he, sliding his hands under her skirt to grasp at her thighs. She didn’t doubt him. His body told no lies, not the way his skin seared against hers, bare where they can feel each other with no barrier.

She ground her hips in response. He was tellingly hard through the fabric. He moaned, threw his head back and bared his neck for her. She took the chance to suck on the spot just at the bottom of his jaw, and he dug his fingers to claw up her thighs.

In his anticipation, he could already taste her in his tongue. He growled unconsciously from his want. He wanted terribly for her taste to be on his tongue.

So he pulled her zipper down and let her dress loose, just enough to expose her left nipple. His tongue darted over it, in circles, lips surrounding and sucked. She arched as she moaned. He pressed her closer, hands grasping at the small of her back because she was sitting heavily on his crotch.

Shit, she felt too good.

As he gave reverence to her chest, the sound of a buckle being fiddle with sounded. Her small fingers set him free, doing away with the zipper of his pants with a little difficulty.

She pulled away, if only to be able to slip his dick free from it confines. It made Jiyong shudder and groan in pleasure. He was more than putty in her hands.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed, arousing her with his want. “It’s been too long, I don’t think I’m gonna last.”

“We better do this quickly, then,” she supposed, not that she thought she could last any longer. Neither could she wait. Jiyong was shirtless and vulnerable under her. There was no way she could resist.

She hefted up her skirts to her waist, raising the front while letting the rest cascade own the back. Her strong, smooth thighs glistened, perfect curving lines that led to red lacy silk panties, easy to remove and pretty against her smooth skin.

The colour of Jiyong’s face matched the silk temptation, and he trailed his digits up to them, over the fabric, careful not to touch her where she didn’t like to be touched.

“What’s this?” he asked breathlessly, choked, running his thumbs by the under seams of her panties. “You did this for me, baby?”

Seungri merely bit her skirt in response. She wasn’t _that_ innocent. Cocking her hips slightly to the side, she watched Jiyong’s blown pupils trail after her hands, from her chest to her thighs, then up again so that she could remove her –

Jiyong wanted to do it. So even before she could, his hands shot to hers and took hold. Together, they slid the fabric off her, revealing all of her slowly, enticingly, making it hard for Jiyongto breathe. When it reached her thighs, it was too stretched to accommodate any more.

Seungri was truly a sight to see: her dress still on, the skirt bitten between her teeth, nothing underneath except for the flimsy fabric that stretched around her thighs like silken, lacy rope.

Jiyong’s mouth was dry, and beautiful as the red was on her skin, he wanted in off. And he couldn’t wait. If he were to properly take it off her, she’d have to stand up from him, and he didn’t want that.

He hated the thought of that.

So in one aggressive motion, angry almost, certainly mad, Jiyong ripped them apart, tearing open one leg of the now-useless piece of fabric laying loose around Seungri’s right leg.

Seungri squeaked and coloured red in surprise.

“Sorry,” Jiyong sighed, rubbing between her thighs and experimentally between her cheeks. Seungri gasped. “I just need you to stay like this.”

He brought two of his fingers to her mouth, impatient to look for the lube nor to stand from their current position. He watched intently as her mouth wrapped around them, groaned when she sucked and swirled her tongue around and in between. He pressed back, unhinging her jaw and feeling the warm and wet softness it offered. But that was enough. He wanted something else. Something warmer, tighter, closer.

He brought his fingers down behind her, feeling her twitch, but nonetheless breached, one finger at a time. Her reaction was guttural, instinctively primal from the pleasurable pain. It was always painful at first, but the release afterwards was addictively redeeming. Quickly after, there had been two, and the pain increased but it was _so much better._

Seungri couldn’t help her moans. She was aware of how desperate she sounded, how utterly shameless. She didn’t care. This was Jiyong. And with Jiyong, she could feel most free.

“Aahh!” she screamed out, winded and high, gladly devastated. With expert ease, Jiyong found her spot, there where it felt best, there where only Jiyong had been. Her hips jerked instantly. Out of her control as they moved with Jiyong’s hands, wanting more, wanting that which could never be enough.

Jiyong chuckled. “You like that, doll?” he teased from under her, sounding just as breathless. “Look at you. So undone with just my fingers. So pretty. You’re gorgeous.”

“Yours,” Seungri insisted.

“Mine,” Jiyong affirmed.

Seungri groaned, frustrated among other things. “Ji–Jiyong,” she whined, moving against Jiyong’s touch. “I n-need more. P-please.”

And Jiyong couldn’t deny her something they both wanted.

He pulled away and she moaned at the loss. Quickly, with one hand grabbing her around her neck, he pulled her down for a kiss as his other hand frantically palmed himself into alignment.

When Jiyong pulled away, it was to say, “Gently, doll. Don’t hurt yourself.”

He led her down to him perfectly. It was rough, painful, lacking a bit of lube and prep in their haste to be together. But it wasn’t any less perfect. When Seungri sank down, Jiyong fully in her, they both moaned. It was a drug like no other, ecstasy at least. And they never did like this. They’d always used condoms for protection, lube to avoid pain – too much at times because Jiyong never wanted to hurt Seungri. This time it was _raw_ , it was... _pure_.

Seungri couldn’t help but tear at the pain. It was too much. Her senses were so filled and overwhelmed and they haven’t even moved too much. He fucked into her slowly, carefully, seeing the discomfort in her features. His hips stuttered.

“Don’t s-stop,” she pleaded when he almost did. “Please. I can – I can handle i-it.”

“Doll,” Jiyong said, reaching up to wipe away the stray tear that fell from her eyes. “Doll, it’s all right – hnghh!”

Seungri started picking up the pace, bringing her body up and down as fast as she could, even if it wasn’t fast at all. “N-no,” she gasped, looking all too ethereal glistening with her dress half undone, make-up all smudged and gone was her polished prettiness. She was warm and tight around him, and it was even more intense when he couldn’t see underneath her dress, where it all was happening. He liked her better like that, uncovered and true, moving and like the way that he could only make her move and look. “I need... I need–”

She wasn’t able to finish that sentence, but she didn’t need to.

He flipped them over, still connected and intertwined. They bounced on the bed with the force, and her skirt fell around her in a pink and white ring, panting her like a flower if he weren’t there to taint her.

But she was his flower. And he would never degrade her as someone to be tainted. He could see in her eyes and hear in her moans that she wanted this as much as he did.

She _needed_ him, feeding his hungered soul with her scent, her taste, her everything.

She was his everything. And he wanted her to feel everything. All of him. So he did.

He gifted her left leg over his shoulder then bent down to her, wrapping her other leg around his waist. He swung his hips, filled with intent.

“Jiyong!” she screamed right by his ear, and Jiyong didn’t think that he could get any harder than he already was. He wanted to keep hearing her scream his name. So he moved his hips over and over again until she did.

He could feel her shiver beneath him, the strength of his thrusts hitting that spot that made her putty in his hands. Her fingers raked against his back, urging him on better than any actual woman could.

“Faster,” she begged, out of breath and almost going out of her mind. “Faster!”

Jiyong was faring no better, head clouded and thoughts filled with nothing but her. She felt so good – too good – and in his haze he could do nothing but comply. His movements were feral, a growl escaping from his gut. The small quakes that wracked her body were indicative of her pleasure.

But Jiyong wanted more, insatiable in his greed for her, in his sin of needing her to be addicted to him. He loved her, wanted to own her, and maybe it was wrong, but as she kept digging her nails against his previously smooth skin, he wasn’t about to ponder on the inconsequential.

“J-jiyong,” she called, breath hitching and voice shaking along with the rest of her. “Jiyong, I’m so – so close, baby. B-baby, plea – please.”

Jiyong’s fingers dug into her thighs much harder; sure they were going to bruise by the morning light. “Me too,” he wispily confessed, wanting nothing less than them rising together. “Cum for me, Seungri. Cum for me.”

“I’m,” Seungri whined. The pleasure in the low of her stomach had built up, filled to the brim and she was about to explode. Jiyong had been so good to her, finding her spot so damningly easily and hitting it repeatedly until she felt her own destruction, only so he could complete her in the end. Over and over, until she – she

“Jiyong! I–”

Seungri tightened further as she came, embracing Jiyong’s dick in her uneven folds, bringing him sensations impossible to endure.

And so he spilled right after her, into her, with a guttural moan unable to fully express his true bliss. “Seungri,” he sighed, belatedly realizing that he’s been chanting his lover’s name as much as she had his. “Seungri, I love you.”

And she had been too high to respond, every nerve in her body feeling sensitive and good. So Seungri merely brought him down to her, immeasurably impressed that his arms were able to hold him up for as long as they did. She kissed him, eyes still wet from tears, already missing him before she even left.

 _I love you too,_ she tried to say.

But her breath kept on catching in her chest, her voice terribly useless except for filling the room with her moans.

“Love me still,” she pleaded. “ _Despite all else_.”

And so he did.

He loved her until she couldn’t breathe, until she couldn’t feel, until all she could see was him.

He loved her until they were one, in more ways than one, until the sun rose. And the sun never did stop rising.

He loved her, and that was it. That was all she needed, she never did love anyone else.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the morning, there were tears.

In the morning, there were questions.

In the morning, there were promises.

In the morning, there was them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Close to three months later, Seungri found herself about to board a one way flight to Japan in nothing less than mean black jeans, her varsity sweater from her last year at Uni, and a good pair of sensible heels, care of no less of a person named Kim Kibum who would rather get caught dead than let Seungri go out in anything unstylish. She waved to her mother a final time. She was going to miss her; she just wished she hadn’t been so fussy. She had waved back to her friends too; she just wished they hadn’t been so embarrassing.

Thank god she was leaving the country.

Her feet took her to her designated seat in confidence – first class – the prospect of a new start invigorating her spirit. She felt like she didn’t have to be afraid anymore, at least not in a place like Japan where at least all the people who knew her were accepting.

Japan

She couldn’t even describe how excited she was. To even call it as that was insulting to her feelings. It was nervousness and something else she couldn’t entirely place. Her hands were shaking so bad, and it wasn’t from the fear of flying.

She couldn’t help but grin to herself. Even if it meant leaving her life behind... well, she had come to terms with that.

As much as she could.

She looked out the window. Because if there was one thing – one person – she was reluctant to leave behind...

Ah, well, it was useless to think about that then, wasn’t it?

“Excuse me,” she was pulled from her musings. “I think you’re in my seat.”

She looked up and couldn’t help but sneer. She had no doubt that she had the right seat. “Excuse me, but I think you’re mistaken.”

The guy peered at here, as much as a guy in sunglasses could peer. He looked like one of those douchebags with the baggy shirt and baggy pants, flashy shoes and his hat on backwards.

He smirked at her. “No, I’m pretty sure that’s my seat. You could take a look at my ticket if you want.”

“I don’t care what your ticket says,” Seungri rolled her eyes. “This is my seat whether you like it or not.

The guy sighed. He sat on the seat beside hers, opening his arms in an offer. “How about this: since you like that seat so much, why don’t we share it? My lap is all yours for the sitting, if you want it.”

“Stop it or I’ll ignore you for the rest of the trip,” Seungri threatened. “We had a deal, Jiyong.”

Jiyong chuckled, ever amused at his girl’s reaction. “All right,” he gave. “Anything for my girl, anyway.”

He took off his hat and placed it on her head. “I don’t know why you’re so cranky. I got you first class seats, didn’t I?”

“And thank you for that even if I didn’t ask you to,” she said, dropping an elbow to her knee so she could prop her head up. “You’re really nice, I couldn’t ask for more. But we had a deal: I’d let you get me first class, but I get the window seat.”

Jiyong laughed, filled with happiness incomparable. “You’re really bitchy today, aren’t you? What’s got your panties up in a bunch?”

She scrunched her nose and crossed her arms. How dare he not know. “I had to wait for you for hours, Jiyong-ah! And you didn’t text me once that you were going to be late. I thought I had to take this flight alone, almost had a heart attack too. Then I just got angry because I thought you were going to leave me.”

“You know I’d never leave you, Seungri-ah,” Jiyong smiled, bringing his hand up to thumb at the corner of her lips. “I love you too much for that.

She kissed his thumb and sighed. “I know. Maybe that was why I wasn’t scared to board the plane anyway.” She side-eyed him. “So will you explain why you were late?”

Jiyong sat back, grabbing her hand to place it at his thigh. They should have probably been more discreet about their actions, but they were in the first class. Well, business class actually, and they were surrounded by grown men who had better things to do than wonder about two youngsters on a plane together.   

Jiyong laid his head on Seungri’s shoulder. “I wasn’t late,” he began. “Manager-nim just decided that it would be best if I left when the plane was about to depart. To avoid fans, as usual.”

“As usual,” Seungri mimicked softly. Then she sighed, “I’m so excited for you. Your first fan meeting in Japan. Youngbae too. I can’t wait to watch you!”

Jiyong turned his head to her neck, giving her a peck and making her giggle. “It’s just a fanmeet, doll. It’s not a career. I should be the one excited for you.”

“You’re not?”

Jiyong scoffed. “Have you seen Choi Seunghyun? He’s like – I mean, I’m a hundred percent better – but he’s just –” and Jiyong didn’t exactly know how to finish that sentence. “And his fucking name makes me feel like you’re married to Minho or something. Which, really, just, no. I swear, Seungri-ah. These Choi boys are going to be the death of me.”

She giggled again, bringing her hand from his thigh to place them on his puffed cheeks. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous,” she mused, “even if you have no reason to be.”

She kissed him, a light peck on the lips that Jiyong took deeper. He didn’t wait to swipe his tongue over her lips. Surprised as she was at the sensation, she still let him. She kissed him back, deep and slow, and he pressed her back against her seat.

When he pulled back, he looked as dazed as she felt. She wondered how long it woukd be when he leaves again after three days, how long they’d be able to see each other, feel each other the way they wanted to.

She wondered. And she would have kept on wondering.

“I wish,” said Seungri, suddenly solemn, “that in the future, when we’re both a little bit more mature, when you’ve reached your dream like you helped me with mine, I wish that you’ll still love me the way you love me today.”

Jiyong smiled gently, afraid to look into her eyes because if he did, he might cry again. “It’s not your birthday, Seungri-ah.”

“It doesn’t have to be my birthday for me to make a wish, Jiyong-ah.”

He looked up at her then. With the sun shining behind her through the small airplane window like a halo, and with him holding her fingers as if they alone were more precious than every cent he has ever and will make, they thought, perhaps there was nothing to worry about after all.

“How about this,” Jiyong offered, taking off the thin chain around Seungri’s neck. “When you’ve fulfilled your wish, and when you’ve lived your life, I’ll return this to you.”

She laughed. “What for?”

“It’ll be like a promise, right?” explained Jiyong, trying to convince himself as much as the other. “That way, we’re both going to have our wishes granted.”

She placed her hand over his. “But you already had your wish granted.”

He hummed. Then he looked into her eyes, meaning every word when he said, "No. I have one more. And it’s the most important yet.”


End file.
